


Cut Me Loose

by SierraKathleen



Series: Cut Me Loose [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Minor Violence, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Slash, Suggestive Themes, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-01-14
Updated: 2011-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-14 18:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SierraKathleen/pseuds/SierraKathleen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Alastair convinces Dean to make a rash decision, the outcome of the apocalypse could be completely transformed. The angels are lying, Sam is lying... it seems the only person Dean can trust is the demon himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here is the first chapter for the second part of the "Cut Me Loose" series. I originally hadn't intended on this being a continuation of my "On The Head Of A Pin (AU)" so if the beginning doesn't quite make perfect sense, I apologize. Also, I'm not entirely sure how long this is going to be, or whether or not there'll be a third part to the series, so just keep that in mind.
> 
> Without anything further, please enjoy!

Both Alastair and Dean panted wildly, feverish with the remnants of their quickly fading orgasms, heaving chests rubbing against one another. Neither one spoke, seeing as words would do little in terms of justification of what was already understood—this was nothing. _Meant_ nothing. Alastair was heartless, thus incapable of loving and Dean could never love a demon. That’s just how things were and how they would always stay. This here, was a onetime thing. A one night stand, if you will. Neither Dean nor Alastair would be willing or proud to speak to any other about these events and things would just continue with business as usual from here on out. Or would they?

Still as Alastair laid his head on the hunter’s shoulder, and Dean in return, he couldn’t help but notice something different had sprouted up inside him. Some unknown spark of electricity which had started lustfully in his member, drifted to his stomach, and now settled contently in the spot in which Dean had stabbed him earlier. Alastair swallowed hard, suddenly unable to stop blinking over his dry eyes. He was Hell’s finest torturer, a vicious and ruthless demon created over centuries. He could not love, that emotion was simply an incapability for him. Where a heart should be, only black and cold space lie. Never the less, as he held Dean firmly in his arms, Alastair desired nothing more than to pull his favorite pupil closer and never let him go. Alastair could not love, but if indeed he could, he would pick a _time_ to describe it rather than a _feeling __. If he had the choice, he would pick Dean Winchester as his lover, and the time to love would be _now_._

Alas, no love was to be found between these two partners, and so what was the point of dreaming? Alastair was a demon and could not love— _tristis, tamen verus_. And so, the almighty demon simply hung limp on this carefully conformed devil’s trap with Dean only inches from his face. “Dean,” he rasped, his voice coming out dry and scratchy, “What have you done?”

Dean blinked vigorously, as if being suddenly brought back to reality. His eyes widened in fear, his heart beginning to thud harshly deep within his chest as he took a very cautious step away from Alastair. He swallowed hard, unable to speak for the words had been drenched from his lips. From his _mind_. Carelessly, he allowed himself to trip on a discarded tool which lay upon the ground crashing onto the concrete below. What had he done? What line had he really just crossed here? The hunter’s mouth hung open in awe as he gazed upon Alastair’s battered a bloodied body, feeling suddenly contaminated by the demon’s filth.

Alastair examined the expression upon Dean’s face carefully, debating just how he could use this moment of weakness to his advantage. “Dean, Dean, Dean,” he regained control of his voice, allowing seduction to drip thickly onto his tone, “What have you done? Hmm?” He frowned sarcastically, as if scolding the hunter non-verbally.

Dean swallowed hard, still somewhat flabbergasted about what had just passed between them. Slowly he arose to his feet, his muscles visibly trembling. “I just—,” he began hesitantly, avoiding Alastair’s almost judgmental stare, “Did we?” Dean questioned the events just occurred, though he knew they had indeed happened.

A devilish smirk tugged at the corners of Alastair’s lips as he watched Dean shudder under his gaze. That was the one thing in which he never hoped to lose, the dominance he held over the Winchester. “Oh, we did,” the demon replied smugly, almost boastfully.

At last Dean met his tormentor’s gaze, feeling a cold wave flourish over him. For an instant, the hunter thought surely he would be sick, but remained standing tall if not simply for appearance’s sake. “Oh no,” Dean muttered, his voice barely grazing a whisper. With that, he ran a hand through his hair which was damp with sweat—he felt completely repulsed with himself. It was the same feeling which had overcome him the moment he accepted Alastair’s offer down in the pits of Hell. It was as if all the work that had been done in which to rebuild himself over the course of the past few months was all pointless, ruined, a wasted effort. For now, even as he stood falsely confident before the demon, Dean felt more shattered than ever.

“Oh yes,” Alastair laughed wildly, enjoying every minute of Dean’s demise, “Oh yes!”

Dean could feel humiliation beginning to flare up in his cheeks, an empty pit starting to boil deep within him where his stomach should lie. “Shut up,” he hissed, turning away from Alastair hastily. He suddenly couldn’t even stand the sight of him, much less hear his taunts.

“Wait, Dean, just where do you think you’re going? You know, this doesn’t have to be a public affair,” Alastair cleared his throat, quickly recovering from his short term hysteria.

Dean furrowed his brow in confusion. Turning his head to gaze slightly over his shoulder, he asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, this could be our little secret,” Alastair mused, almost suggestively, “No one has to know. Besides, I won’t tell them if you won’t.”

Dean felt an unexpected flicker of hope bubble up inside him at the demon’s offer. Ignoring his previous fear, he turned and actually took a few steps towards Alastair. “You’d do that?” he questioned, getting right up in his old master’s face.

Alastair smiled eagerly, the young pup was taking his bait. “One condition,” he proclaimed.

Dean frowned somewhat, but was still interested in what Alastair had to say, “Okay?”

“Cut me loose,” Alastair demanded.

Meanwhile, standing in the room just next door Castiel leaned upon the large table which sat towards the center of the room. His rather heated conversation with Anna had left him feeling frustrated and discontent. Still, above all else, there was really one thing specifically which was slowly grinding away on his nerves—the next room. Whatever Dean was doing in there, Castiel silently prayed was for the best. Still, for Hell’s torture practices to be being committed, Alastair’s screams had ceased rather quickly. Everything was just a little too silent for the angel’s taste.

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Sam gripped the stirring wheel even tighter, his knuckles beginning to turn white. The fresh demon blood within his system made it feel as though his own blood was on fire as it coursed through his veins. Shaking his head somewhat, the young hunter simply concentrated on the road before him. The windshield wipers squealed rhythmically as the sloshed the rain water back and forth. Back. And. Forth.

Still, despite all the good he was sure his powers would do in stopping Alastair once and for all, there was a lingering doubt in the back of Sam’s mind. What if Dean was right, what if things had already gone too far for him? Hell, he seemed to be spending more time with Ruby now than he was his own brother! _No_ , Sam assured himself silently, _This has to work. This has to be right_.

Yet back in the small room of the warehouse, Dean could feel all the muscles in his body tightening. He stood there in this long drawn and extremely awkward silence, eyeing Alastair suspiciously all the while. “Dean, cut me loose,” Alastair repeated, his voice more firm this time.

Dean licked his lips delicately, dropping his eyes towards the ground almost in shame. “Or what?” the hunter challenged, wanting to know just what game pieces were out on the chess board.

“You know what,” Alastair growled in response, “Tell me, how do you think little Sammy will react to lustful dabble that’s occurred here?” Dean swallowed hard, feeling his true hatred for Alastair burn deep in the bottom of his heart. He let out an echoing sigh, still not lifting his eyes to meet Alastair’s. “Dean,” Alastair muttered, catching the hunter’s undivided attention, “Do it. _Cut me loose_.”

Dean looked upon Alastair’s face once more, retrieving Ruby’s knife from the nearby cart of tools. “Alright,” he replied, his voice barely audible.

Castiel dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his vessel’s trench coat, letting out a soft sigh as he lifted himself from the table’s edge. His footsteps echoed loudly upon the concrete as he took many uncertain steps towards the doorway. What would he find lying beyond it? For one of the first times since his embodiment in this earthly flesh, Castiel indeed felt afraid. He halted his walk just before reaching the boundaries of the door, waiting and debating.

Meanwhile, Dean strode over to Alastair who still clung to the devil’s trap. Unwrapping the demon’s chains hurriedly, the hunter regretted his every movement. Then, never taking his eyes off of Alastair, he knelt almost subjectively before the demon in which to remove the chains about his ankles. At last, Dean took Ruby’s knife and scraped away the symbol which kept Alastair at bay. Almost instantly, the demon placed his hands upon Dean, grasping him roughly from the shoulders before slamming him into the trap himself.

Leaning so close that Dean could feel his breath upon his cheek, Alastair muttered to his pupil, “I thank you kindly, my boy. But do not think this is the last time we shall converse.” And then, almost as a departing gift Alastair leaned in abruptly, plastering a most uncomfortable kiss to the Winchester’s lips. Dean almost winced as they mouths intertwined, feeling Alastair unexpectedly bit down upon his lower lips causing him to bleed. Even so, something was different as Dean trembled beneath Alastair’s touch. Instead of suckling the blood away from Dean’s lip, Alastair almost seemed to be inserting something into the wound.

Suddenly, the demon broke their embrace, forcefully slamming Dean into the metal before leaving him to crash down upon the floor. Stealthily, the demon creeped away into the shadows of the warehouse, sneaking out some back door most likely. Still Dean lay limp upon the floor, a strange yet sickening wave flourishing quickly over his entire body. It started as a dull thumping in his lip, but wasted no time in spreading to every nook and cranny. At first it felt burning hot, causing the hunter to break out in a rather abrupt fever, but then surely chills followed thereafter. Dean found himself curling into a ball beneath the frame of the devil’s trap, clutching him arms desperately.

Finally though Castiel had enough, he needed to know what was going on behind this door. Taking a few more steps closer to the glass, the angel peered in frowning at the sight before him. He saw the rack empty, the demon who’d been occupying it mysteriously absent. And then it caught his eye—Dean’s body curled at its base. Without a second’s hesitation, Castiel burst into the room appearing at Dean’s side almost instantly. “Dean, Dean,” he called, turning the hunter over in which to see his face.

There was a light sweat upon Dean’s brow, his eyes glazed and unfocused as if off somewhere else. Meanwhile, the hunter’s mouth hung slightly open in which a thin trail of purple tinted blood flowed. Castiel rubbed his fingers over the mysterious liquid, lifting it close to his eyes in which to examine it. Dean choked and gasped, his body convulsing somewhat. There then came another pair of footsteps which came to a sudden halt as the person saw what was taking place before them. Castiel glanced over his shoulder to see none other than Sam Winchester rushing over to his location. Quite frankly, the angel was just perplexed on how he managed to find their location. _Help from Ruby, no doubt_ , he mused to himself.

“Dean, Dean!” Sam shouted in hysteria, clenching his brother’s jacket desperately, “Cas, what’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know, Alastair’s gone. He must’ve done something to him,” Castiel responded, checking over Dean’s body for any other possible injuries.

“What did he do?” Sam questioned, his voice coming out rather hushed.

Castiel let out a deep sigh, just shaking his head as he overlooked the elder hunter. “I don’t know,” he repeated.


	2. Chapter 2

With Castiel’s help, Sam managed to cart Dean outside to the Impala and get him situated in the back seat. Slamming the door quickly, Sam rummaged the keys out of his pocket stopping abruptly to look upon the angel. “Come on, get in,” he somewhat commanded.

“Would it not be faster if I simply teleported Dean?” Castiel asked, almost avoiding Sam’s urgent eyes.

“We’re driving. Now,” Sam cleared his throat, grumbling under his breath as he slipped into the driver’s seat and put the key into the ignition. Hardly waiting for Castiel to shut the door properly as he joined him, Sam threw the car in drive and began to speed away from the old warehouse. “Damn it,” he muttered, glancing in the rear view mirror at Dean who was still in his almost paralyzed state.

“Where is it you’re taking him?” Castiel inquired, looking up through the windshield in which to find where they were going.

“Bobby’s,” Sam replied simply, keeping his eyes focused intently on the road.

Castiel furrowed his brow somewhat, turning to look quizzically at the young hunter who sat beside him. “Are you certain he can help Dean?” he asked.

“No,” Sam sighed in dismay, “But we have to try. He’s our only option.”

Castiel said nothing in response, sitting quietly in the passenger’s seat with his hands clasped contently in his lap. Twisting around to face the back seat, Castiel’s eyes overlooked Dean’s body which glistened with a coating of sweat. The hunter’s typically vibrant hazel eyes were dim and clouded as he stared blankly in front of him. Castiel raised an arm towards the hunter’s head, before pressing both his index and middle finger against the damp skin.

“What the Hell was that for?!” Sam spat suddenly, trying his best to focus on the angel and the road both at the same time.

Castiel repositioned himself forward in his seat, brushing over his trench coat lightly. “Dean will not feel the pain if he is unconscious,” Cas said simply.

Sam arched an eyebrow, questioning, “How do you know?”

“Trust me,” Castiel cleared his throat, still avoiding Sam’s stare. There was something particular about the hunter which was beginning to unsettle his nerves. Sam snorted in response, shaking his head silently to himself as he returned his view to the road. Light speckles of rain began to spatter against the windshield, in which Sam turned a switch to begin wiping them away. For a moment nothing but the squeaking of rubber against glass was the only noise that echoed between the two. “I should go and find Uriel, he must know of Alastair’s escape,” Castiel said at last.

“Wait, aren’t youWith Castiel’s help, Sam managed to cart Dean outside to the Impala and get him situated in the back seat. Slamming the door quickly, Sam rummaged the keys out of his pocket stopping abruptly to look upon the angel. “Come on, get in,” he somewhat commanded.

“Would it not be faster if I simply teleported Dean?” Castiel asked, almost avoiding Sam’s urgent eyes.

“We’re driving. Now,” Sam cleared his throat, grumbling under his breath as he slipped into the driver’s seat and put the key into the ignition. Hardly waiting for Castiel to shut the door properly as he joined him, Sam threw the car in drive and began to speed away from the old warehouse. “Damn it,” he muttered, glancing in the rear view mirror at Dean who was still in his almost paralyzed state.

“Where is it you’re taking him?” Castiel inquired, looking up through the windshield in which to find where they were going.

“Bobby’s,” Sam replied simply, keeping his eyes focused intently on the road.

Castiel furrowed his brow somewhat, turning to look quizzically at the young hunter who sat beside him. “Are you certain he can help Dean?” he asked.

“No,” Sam sighed in dismay, “But we have to try. He’s our only option.”

Castiel said nothing in response, sitting quietly in the passenger’s seat with his hands clasped contently in his lap. Twisting around to face the back seat, Castiel’s eyes overlooked Dean’s body which glistened with a coating of sweat. The hunter’s typically vibrant hazel eyes were dim and clouded as he stared blankly in front of him. Castiel raised an arm towards the hunter’s head, before pressing both his index and middle finger against the damp skin.

“What the Hell was that for?!” Sam spat suddenly, trying his best to focus on the angel and the road both at the same time.

Castiel repositioned himself forward in his seat, brushing over his trench coat lightly. “Dean will not feel the pain if he is unconscious,” Cas said simply.

Sam arched an eyebrow, questioning, “How do you know?”

“Trust me,” Castiel cleared his throat, still avoiding Sam’s stare. There was something particular about the hunter which was beginning to unsettle his nerves. Sam snorted in response, shaking his head silently to himself as he returned his view to the road. Light speckles of rain began to spatter against the windshield, in which Sam turned a switch to begin wiping them away. For a moment nothing but the squeaking of rubber against glass was the only noise that echoed between the two. “I should go and find Uriel, he must know of Alastair’s escape,” Castiel said at last.

“Wait, aren’t you—,” Sam began, but he was cut off mid-sentence by the swift sound of ruffling feathers. The young Winchester huffed impatiently, pressing his foot down even harder on the gas pedal. There was just something he didn’t like about angels, regardless whether they were servants of God or not.

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Castiel found Uriel easily enough at a playground located not too far from the warehouse in which Alastair had been held. Despite the snow which still sat contently on the ground all around them, neither angel seemed to mind the chilled temperature as a light breeze passed through the leafless branches of the trees. Castiel’s footsteps made a light crunch as he took a few steps closer to the bench upon which Uriel sat.

“Castiel,” Uriel murmured in surprise, glancing upward at his brother.

“Hello Uriel, I thought I might find you here,” Cas replied, sighing lightly as he took a seat beside him.

Uriel folded his hands in his lap, overlooking Castiel from head to toe. “So, has the Winchester accomplished anything yet? Or are he and the demon still at their mind games?” Uriel chuckled somewhat, avoiding Castiel’s sudden angered stare at his words.

“This is not a laughing matter, Uriel,” Castiel scolded sternly, “Dean did not even wish to do this in the first place.”

Uriel huffed almost in annoyance, “That’s not his choice to make. We’re out of options.”

“This interrogation _was_ our last option. Now we truly have nothing left,” Castiel corrected him.

Furrowing his brow in confusion, Uriel questioned, “And what is that supposed to mean exactly?”

“Alastair has escaped,” Cas said simply, resting his chin upon his fist.

“Perfect, just perfect!” Uriel exclaimed aggravation, “I knew we couldn’t depend on those mud monkeys for anything, absolutely nothing!”

Castiel glared at his brother who had now arisen from the bench and was pacing before him. “Uriel—,”

But Uriel cut Castiel off abruptly, “Leave it to the Winchester to let Alastair get away. Weak as they come.”

“Enough!” Castiel hollered, quickly standing from his own seat to look upon Uriel at eye level, “Dean did not _let_ Alastair get away, that much you can be sure of.”

“Oh really?” Uriel scoffed, “And just how can you be so sure, Castiel?”

“He’s been poisoned,” Castiel retorted.

Uriel’s expression softened almost immediately, looking slightly taken aback. “By Alastair?” he inquired.

“I, I’m not certain,” Castiel confessed in dismay, “But Sam Winchester and I assume so. He’s being taken to Robert Singer’s home as we speak.”

Uriel snorted somewhat, not really seeing how much good another human could do in these sort of matters. Quickly though, he cleared his throat seeing as Castiel was none too happy with him right now. “Perhaps we could call for some help in this matter?” he suggested.

Castiel frowned, “Do you really think they’ll send another reinforcement?”

“Desperate times do call for desperate measures,” Uriel sighed, shrugging his shoulders, “I’ll inform our superiors of the situation. You, in the mean time, should go and find _her_.”

“I’m not so sure _she’d_ be willing to help,” Castiel said doubtfully.

“Like you said, Castiel, we’re out of options,” Uriel declared before vanishing into the air.

Castiel allowed his head to hang low, digging his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. This poison was beyond his recognition, and he could only guess what kind of things it would do to Dean if not kill him. Uriel was right, they needed all the help they could get. The trouble was what if this necessary help wasn’t entirely willing?

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Sam was able to drive about five hours, half way, before Dean began to stir and have fits in the back seat. Dawn was just beginning to break over the horizon and so Sam turned into a roadside motel, being sure to slip Dean in through a back entrance as to avoid suspicion. The elder hunter’s fever had returned and Dean was burning up fast. Sam grunted as he once more attempted to lift his brother from the motel bed, half-dragging him into the small bathroom, and rather forcefully plopping him into the bathtub. Dean let out a muffled sentence of gibberish, his eyes rolling around in his head. Quickly Sam reached for the nozzle of the tub, turning the cold on high before allowing the chilled water to spill over his brother’s body. Dean visibly shuddered, beginning to flap his arms and flail his legs wildly.

“Dean, Dean, shhh,” Sam soothed, placing his hands reassuringly on his brother’s shoulders. Dean seemed to relax almost instantly settling into his coma-like state once more. Sam turned the handle once more in which to shut off the water, before shifting away from the tub slightly. Closing the lid of the toilet, Sam sat atop it running a hand through his hair. Pulling his phone from his pocket he went to his list of contacts and selected the one that read _Ruby_. It rang once... twice... three times... four...

“Damn it Sam, what?!” Ruby snapped on the other line, “You know, contrary to popular belief, I’m actually out doing things when I’m not busy feeding you.”

Sam rolled his eyes at her bitchiness—typical woman. “Dean’s in trouble,” he cleared his throat.

“What, Alastair finally got to his head or something?” she asked, almost nonchalantly.

“I, I don’t know,” Sam sighed, pinching the brim of his nose, “Alastair must’ve poisoned him or something.”

“Whoa, whoa, poisoned him? If you’re calling for help, you got the wrong specialist there, Sam,” Ruby exclaimed.

“Ruby please, his fever’s massive. I need to get some ice to cool him down, but he can’t be here by himself,” Sam urged.

Ruby sighed, gritting her teeth in irritation—the last thing she wanted to do was sit alone in some crappy motel room with none other than Dean Winchester: second in command, torturer extraordinaire! “Fine,” she agreed at last begrudgingly, “But don’t expect me to be all gentle with him.”

“Just get here,” Sam almost growled before hanging up his phone.

Within a few minutes, there came a loud pounding against Sam’s motel room door. Without even a second’s hesitation, the young hunter opened the door which revealed a rather pissed off demon. “Where is he?” Ruby demanded, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as she shifted her weight to one side.

“In the bathroom,” Sam replied simply. Purposefully, Ruby brushed against him as she entered the room making sure her unwillingness was easily known. “Hey Ruby,” Sam called after her, “Thanks.”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, now get out of here,” she grumbled making her way into the cramped bathroom. She sat upon the lid of the toilet just as Sam had previously, watching over the older Winchester curiously. It was odd to find him in such a weakened state. Ruby had only seen his aggressive and somewhat violent tendencies, and so this was some kind of treat for her. To watch him struggle in the bathwater helplessly, why it actually brought a sadistic smile to her face. Allowing her ink black eyes to be exposed freely, Ruby leaned against the back of the toilet crossing her legs almost devilishly. Now all there was to do was wait.

Sam, meanwhile, drove the Impala well over the speed limit in which to get to the nearest gas station as quickly as possible. With a half-assed park job, the young hunter pulled up into one of the closest parking spaces before hopping out to grab a huge bag of ice. At the same time, Sam pulled his phone out once more dialing Bobby’s number quickly.

It didn’t take long before picked up, sounding groggy and disturbed on the other end of the phone. “Hello?” he stammered.

“Bobby, it’s Sam,” Sam sighed.

“Kid, you alright?” Bobby asked, his senses suddenly drastically awoken.

“It’s Dean,” he began to explain, “he’s sick Bobby.”

Bobby’s voice deepened with concern, “Sick, like how?”

“Alastair poisoned him or something,” Sam replied.

“Shit,” Bobby grumbled wearily.

“Yeah, I need you to get here,” Sam continued.

Bobby reached for a notepad and a pen in which to write their address, “Where ya at?”

“Martin, not too far from you. Crappy roadside motel, can’t miss it,” Sam said.

“Right, I’ll try to get there as quick as I can,” Bobby assured him.

“Thanks Bobby,” Sam smiled somewhat to himself—no matter the trouble, Dean and he could always count on Bobby. It was a nice encouragement.

Bobby sighed, “You bet. Just do what you can to keep him comfortable til I get there.”

With that, Sam clicked off his phone and shoved it quickly back into his pocket. He then made for the freezer at the front store and fetched a fairly large bag of ice. Hurriedly he paid for it, before stuffing it into the passenger’s seat of the car. Then, twisting the key once more in the ignition, the young hunter threw the car in reverse and sped off back towards the direction of the motel.

Ruby twiddled her thumbs as Dean mumbled something gibberish. “You know I can’t here you, right?” Ruby said, picking at her fingernails, “Oh, that’s right, you can’t hear me either.” The demon chuckled sneakily to herself, arising from her seat atop the toilet to get closer to the tub. “I’ve been waiting a long time for a moment like this, Deano,” she continued, crouching down beside where the hunter lay, “A moment to let you know just how I feel about you. See, truthfully, I can’t stand you. I think you’re pathetic and dickless, always trying to size me up. But then again, I always have to grin and bear for the sake of Sammy. Always for Sammy dearest. But you know what? Sam and I, we had loads of fun while you were downstairs. That’s right. We were happy to enjoy ourselves without little old _you_.”

If not for self control, Ruby probably would’ve hauled off and smacked the Winchester right where he lay. She would’ve brought him even more pain, made him suffer. But in truth, the one thing which brought the demon back was when Dean spoke yet again. This time it came out clearer and more forceful. “Alastair,” Dean muttered, almost needily, “Alastair, oh please.”

Ruby raised her eyebrows in surprise at Dean’s wild moaning. Just what the Hell was buzzing around in his head, she didn’t know. Arising slowly from the tile, Ruby took a cautious step backwards feeling suddenly threatened as the air had become strangely stale.

“Ruby,” a gruff voice echoed from behind her. Ruby could feel chills run up her spine as she slowly turned to face the unexpected visitor. She then swallowed hard, preparing for what was to come.


	3. Chapter 3

Ruby turned slowly to face whatever intruder had imposed upon the doorway. Her heart thrashed wildly in her chest, her muscles tense with anticipation. There, standing in his typical soldier-like manner, was Castiel. His navy eyes were focused intently upon her, his hands buried deep inside the pockets of his oh so characteristic trench coat. Ruby huffed and rolled her eyes in dismay, somehow she’d been hoping for something more. “What are you doing?” he commanded, his voice low but still authoritive.

“Was does it look like?” Ruby retorted sarcastically.

“Well, by the looks of it, you’re either speaking to the currently incapacitated Winchester, or in a state of delusion where you could only then be speaking to your lonesome,” another voice rang out suddenly from Castiel, “Take your pick.”

Ruby gritted her teeth, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as a woman stepped forth. Just who did she think she was? The woman stood beside Castiel, mimicking the same solid posture though she looked about an inch or so shorter. Her skin was fair, her hair a rich dark, almost plum, color. Though it was her eyes which really caught Ruby’s attention—they were a sparkling silver, clean with purity and free of blame, and an almost neon orange eye shadow highlighted them atop the lids. She was pretty, Ruby had to admit, but that gave the demon all the more reason to feel threatened by her.

“And you think you just have all the answers, don’t you?” Ruby snorted, keeping her safe and obnoxious wall up for her protection.

The woman took a fearless step forward, eyeing Ruby with much precision. “I do not, but it would appear you do,” the woman challenged, arching an eyebrow quizzically.

Ruby felt very uneasy within this woman’s gaze. Dropping her own line of sight towards the ground, she dared to ask, “Who _are_ you?”

“You may address me as Taharial, angel of purification. God’s servant,” the woman replied sternly.

Ruby flinched at the mention of The Almighty One, edging slightly away from the now revealed angel. “Well, I think I’ll get going then,” Ruby cowered, brushing past Taharial and towards the doorway.

“Yes,” Taharial agreed, “You should.”

Ruby gave one last threatening glare towards the angel before striding past Castiel and out of the crammed bathroom. That place was small enough as was without two celestials to make things worse. Letting out a nerve-wracked sigh, Ruby allowed herself to collapse onto one of the motel room beds awaiting Sam’s return.

The two angels, however, set quickly to work. Taharial crouched down beside the bathtub, inspecting any visible damage Dean may have sustained. “Do you see anything suspicious?” Castiel questioned, preferring to stand.

“Not yet,” Taharial responded simply. Without even a second’s hesitation, she plunged her hands into the frigid bathwater feeling over the hunter’s body. She allowed her eyelids to dip shut as she moved along, looking for any spiritual tears as well physical. Reaching Dean’s shoulders, Taharial felt inward edging toward his collarbone and finally reaching the neck. “Something’s not right,” she muttered, pulling her hands suddenly away from Dean’s body.

Castiel furrowed his brow, looking at Taharial in confusion. “What do you mean?” he inquired.

“He’s,” Taharial hesitated for a moment, “ _Filthy_.”

Castiel stroked his chin thoughtfully. He asked, “How so?”

“A demonic stench, it’s all over him,” Taharial clarified, “Can you not feel it?” She glanced upward over her shoulder at her fellow brethren.

“I admit, I did not gain the chance to look him over properly,” Castiel cleared his throat looking somewhat embarrassed.

Taharial looked as if she were about to speak again, when Dean interrupted her with a sudden murmur. He jerked his head from side to side, his body twitching somewhat. Both Castiel and Taharial exchanged puzzled glances, before continuing to watch Dean’s fitful rest. The hunter shivered, more or less from his thoughts than the actual temperature of the bathwater, his eyes running rampant beneath the concealment of his eyelids. “Leave me alone,” Dean suddenly called out, his voice echoing loudly against the otherwise silent bathroom, “No.”

“And why not?” Alastair cooed, sitting across the room—in Dean’s mind at least. The demon was hunched in his chair rather nonchalantly picking at his fingernails. Flashing his milky white eyes upward, he gave Dean a devilish grin.

Dean broke their stare almost instantly, feeling humiliation beginning to flush color to his cheeks. “I, I told you,” Dean sputtered, his voice shaking with fear, “I don’t want to.”

“Oh,” Alastair pouted in sarcasm. In the blink of an eye, he appeared only inches from Dean’s face, well beyond the hunter’s comfortable personal boundaries. “Because you didn’t seem to mind it earlier,” Alastair continued, “Didn’t mind the way I _touched_ and _caressed you_.” As he spoke, the demon began to rub his hand suggestively over the fabric of Dean’s shirt, circling him with slow steps all the while.

Dean allowed his eyelids to fall shut, swallowing hard as Alastair continued to feel over his torso. Something about the situation should be disgusting him right about now, but for some strange reason the hunter couldn’t seem to pull himself. Couldn’t seem to stand his ground, or ever put up any kind of fight what so ever. “Please,” Dean whispered, not daring to open his eyes, not wanting to see the sick expression he was sure was plastered upon Alastair’s face.

“Please what?” Alastair asked, leaning in close to Dean’s ear and being sure to pronounce every syllable clearly in which to make shivers race down Dean’s spine.

Dean took a deep breath, trying his best to calm his nerves before opening his eyes once again. “Please _don’t_ ,” he almost growled, more confidence in his tone this time around.

Alastair looked slightly taken aback, gazing at the hunter in surprise, though he quickly recovered. “See, that’s one of the problems with you Dean,” he said, stepping away from Dean to circle him almost controllingly once more, “You’re so _indecisive_. I don’t like that.”

“Yeah well,” Dean cleared his throat, crossing his arms protectively over his chest, “Screw you very much.”

Alastair paused his circling, arching a seductive eyebrow at the hunter. Dean could feel his stomach lurch and turn dysfunctionally. “Now there’s no need to get nasty there, Deano,” Alastair scolded, “I’m still all for the don’t ask don’t tell policy. Like I said before, this could be our little secret.”

Dean took a moment to debate his answer silently to himself. What he and Alastair had shared—regardless of how mind blowing or sadistic it may have been—was fun. Dean felt exhilarated to be doing something wrong without any consequences. For him to be free from all the conformities and break the rules himself for a change. There was just something about being in his old master’s clutches again which sickened the hunter, but excited something deep within him at the same time. He cleared his throat, daring to speak again, “I just—,”

“There’s always a million reasons not to do something, Dean,” Alastair interrupted him, his voice more commanding and somewhat _needier_ than before.

Dean caught Alastair’s gaze, holding it for what felt like an eternity. “What do you want?” the hunter asked finally after a long drawn pause.

“What I want?” Alastair echoed, “Why, I want you Dean.” He smiled sickly, taking a step closer to his pet.

Dean swallowed hard, trying his best to stand firmly without quivering. “Come on, don’t feed me that crap,” he retorted, “There’s gotta be something you want. You wouldn’t be wasting your time if there wasn’t.”

Alastair’s grin faded somewhat as he proceeded to answer Dean’s questions. “You’re right, there is something. There always is. See, I had fun with you Dean. In Hell, well we were two of kind—unstoppable,” the demon praised, his eyes hazing a bit as if off somewhere very far, “And then came your angel, a fluffy toy on a leash. Truth be told, I miss what we had Dean.”

Dean furrowed his brow at Alastair, this type of heart-to-heart conversation really wasn’t the demon’s style. No, not at all. “Really? Well then, if you miss me so much, why not just drag me back downstairs? Huh, get this show on the road?” the hunter pressed, now longing for answers more than anything.

“Oh believe me, Dean, I wish it were that easy,” Alastair snickered, “But I can only be sure your little push-button angels would be back to fetch you in a jiffy. After all, you’re a special one you are.”

“Oh yeah? How so?” Dean inquired, trying to sound more relaxed than he really felt. On the inside, his mind was racing with a thousand thoughts of what the demon could mean. A thousand thoughts of what the demon could want.

“That matters little,” Alastair retorted, waving his hand about nonchalantly, “What’s important right now is your say so. My offer’s still good, Dean. Come on, what do you say? You still get to live, stay with your brother doing what you will, but at the end of the day _you belong to me_.”

At this, Dean couldn’t help but look away from his tormentor. What did that even mean, Dean belonging to Alastair? Did the demon mean him physically, or his soul? Would he still go to Hell if he somehow managed to die before his time? All these thoughts made no sense to the hunter, as he seemed to be getting lost in a whirl of panic and confusion. Then, without warning, Dean found Alastair pressed tightly against him closing the space between them. The demon’s lips locked onto Dean’s in some kind of sick embrace, Alastair curling his arm around Dean’s back in which to plunge his tongue into the hunter’s mouth. At first Dean did his best to struggle, to push Alastair away, but at last he couldn’t help but melt into this twisted passion.

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The ice toppled onto Dean, jolting his nerves awake like electricity through water. The hunter gasped loudly as he brought out of his comatose-like state and back to reality. Gripping the edges of the tub tightly, Dean glanced about in which to determine his surroundings. Everyone’s faces were blurry and therefore it was difficult to tell who was who. Suddenly one voice rang out, slow and extremely low pitched. Dean didn’t recognize it at all.

“Dean,” it called out, “Dean, Dean!”

Dean shook his head vigorously, staring blindly at the unidentifiable figure before him. He squinted his eyes tightly, which caused a sharp pain to spark in his hand. Reaching a hand up in what almost felt like slow motion, he rubbed the skin desperately wishing for the pain to stop. Everything was so dim, so out of the ordinary. It was enough to make him sick. With an unexpected jolt of his head, the whole world was sent spinning. Before Dean knew it, his neck was twisting round and round before finally collapsing onto the porcelain behind.

“Dean,” he could hear the voice murmuring again, “Dean, come on, please wake up.”

At last the hunter’s eyelids fluttered open, his vision still blurred momentarily before coming back into focus. “Sammy?” he asked, seeing his brother’s concerned face staring down at him from atop. He obviously was no longer in the bathtub but rather on a motel bed—a very soft motel bed at that. Dean’s head hurt much less from the time before, and the world to seem much more sharpened and realistic.

“Hey,” Sam said in a low voice, leaning in towards his brother in which to place a hand on Dean’s shoulder, “How you feeling?”

“Freaking fantastic,” Dean grumbled in response, attempting to sit up somewhat from the bed sheets. There came a riveting pain throughout his whole body, surging into the very core of him it would seem.

“Whoa, whoa, easy. You’re not better just yet,” Sam soothed, encouraging Dean to stay in his horizontal position.

Dean let out an exasperated sigh, settling back against the pillows wearily. “Thanks for the warning there, genius,” the elder hunter muttered, allowing his eyes to dip shut. Visions of Alastair unexpectedly flooded his vision, and so Dean preferred to keep his open for the time being just to blankly stare at the ceiling.

“Hello Dean,” a lighthearted voice echoed suddenly from beside the bed.

Dean glanced up at the very attractive angel whom stood beside his bed, a dopey smile spreading over his lips. “Well,” he cleared his throat, “I think I’m feeling better already.”

Both he and Sam chuckled somewhat, exchanging silly glances at Dean’s remark. At the look of confusion upon Taharial’s face, however, they quickly straightened up. “Dean, this is Taharial,” Castiel introduced, stepping forth.

“She’s not another specialist, is she?” Dean grumbled—he was getting pretty tired of this whole angel business to be quite honest.

“No, not like Uriel,” Castiel clarified.

Dean shifted himself somewhat upright, clasping his hands contently in his lap. “Good, cause I’ve had about enough of those,” he continued. At this, Sam elbowed Dean lightly throwing him a stern glance. Dean cleared his throat ignoring his brother’s pushiness.

“You’ve been poisoned, Dean,” Taharial began to explain directly, “Alastair has infected you.”

Dean felt slight color beginning to flush to his cheeks simply at the mention of the demon’s name. He started blankly at his hands, which were still folded neatly in his lap. He felt terribly guilty, almost embarrassed, in front of everyone in the room.

“Dean?” Sam asked suddenly, pulling his brother back to the surface of reality.

“I heard,” Dean replied, tilting his head back upward at last, “Can you help me?”

Dean stared up at Taharial with so much need, so much brokenness and anguish in his eyes, that the angel had to look away in fear of the emotion which was threatening to overtake her. “Yes,” she replied her voice barely grazing a whisper, “I shall do my best to heal you.”

That being said, Taharial approached the bedside in which she sat beside the eldest Winchester. Leaning in close to him, she closed his eyelids lightly with her fingertips in order to prepare him for what was to come. Dean’s senses began to tingle blissfully as Taharial placed her hands upon his face. She then grasped his jaw lightly, tugging it downward in which to open his mouth. Dean did so without resistance, making no complaints when Taharial proceeded to come even closer until they were mere inches from each other. Using the most delicate of touches, the angel pulled on Dean’s lower lip revealing the place in which Alastair had infected him. Sam shivered somewhat at the sight of it, perplexed at just how Alastair managed to bite Dean there— _inside_ his mouth.

Opening her own mouth, Taharial looked as though she were about to kiss the Winchester. A low, almost growling, sound began to rumble in the angel’s throat. Just as quickly as it had begun, however, the noise suddenly transformed into a sweet celestial melody. Sam gaped in awe as he saw a golden string of light transferring out of Taharial’s mouth and into Dean’s. At the same time, a black and deep plumb tinted strand began to pour from Dean’s lips. This bizarre connection between hunter and angel lasted for only a moment longer, before Taharial jerked away suddenly. Almost immediately she had her own hands wrapped around her throat, choking and sputtering uncontrollably.

“Taharial,” Castiel gasped out, inching towards her in concern.

“No!” she managed to choke, holding her hand up towards Castiel in protest, “I, I almost have it.” She coughed and hacked for a few seconds further before finally spitting out the dark substance. Everyone watched as the goop began to bubble and sizzle almost like acid atop the carpeting.

“That was in me?” Dean questioned, staring at the black pool in amazement.

“Yes,” Taharial coughed, “There’s no telling what it may done, had it stayed in you longer.”

All those in the room remained silent there afterwards, occasional awkward glances being tossed across to each other. Finally, Sam spoke out. “Dean, how did Alastair bite your lip?” he asked, unable to keep his curiosity contained any longer.

Dean’s face fell, all the color draining quickly from it as he turned a sickly pale shade. He swallowed hard, his heart pounding wildly against his rib cage. “I don’t want to talk about it,” the hunter whispered, purposefully avoiding all eye contact—especially Sam’s.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean was unusually silent as he and Sam began to pack up their things from the motel room. Once Sam had arrived back with the ice, he told Ruby to lie low for the time being until this all could be sorted out with the angels. She obviously had no qualms with the suggestion, especially after feeling so terribly intimidated by Taharial. And so, it all boiled down to two hunters versus two angels for the now—an extremely awkward silence hovering in the air above them.

“So, uh, where do we go from here?” Sam asked awkwardly, clearing his throat as he broke the stillness.

Taharial glanced at him from across the room, her expression blank and serene. She looked very peaceful. “Castiel and I are waiting to receive revelation,” she replied.

“From what I understand,” Castiel added, “Uriel should be arriving soon to give us further instructions on how to handle Dean’s— _situation_.”

Dean grumbled, stuffing the remainder of his clothing inside of his bag, “Oh great. Well I hate to rain on your parade there, but if junkless is gonna come around any time soon I’d like to get this show on the road.”

“Dean,” Sam hissed, throwing Dean a scolding glare.

Dean ignored him, promptly turning back to face Castiel just to see what eager response he had hidden just behind his teeth. “Dean, Uriel may have some useful information on Alastair’s whereabouts. You must be patient,” the angel insisted, taking a step closer to the elder of the two hunters.

“Yeah, well while we’re sitting around here being patient, I gotta take a leak,” Dean announced sarcastically, making his way towards the bathroom which was nestled in the corner.

“Dean, wait,” Sam grabbed him by the arm, jerking him back, “What the heck is your problem?”

Dean cleared his throat, shrugging Sam off as he lied through his teeth, “Dude, nothing’s my problem. What, is it illegal for a man to take a whizz or something now?” On that note, he jerked roughly out of Sam’s grasp and continued his way to the confinements of white tile.

Sam shook his head, watching as Dean closed the door firmly behind him. Directing his gaze back towards the angels, he noticed them both staring at him intently. “He really is grateful,” Sam urged, feeling slightly embarrassed all of a sudden.

“He has a remarkable way of showing it,” Castiel grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest as he took a seat on the corner of one of the motel beds.

Taharial through Castiel a glance, which made his expression soften a bit. “It’s a defense mechanism,” Taharial said simply.

Sam furrowed his brow, pausing to look quizzically upon the angel. He asked, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve been around to witness humanity a bit longer than Castiel here,” she explained, taking a step forward, “And from my understanding, when something is really grinding away at someone they’ll try to disguise it with anger. Acting tough and bitter is just their way of ignoring the problem and hoping it goes away.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully, it made sense. He was beginning to like Taharial, she had great wisdom but wasn’t ignorant about it. She was just generally— _nice_. “And what do you think is bothering Dean?” he questioned, feeling that she may just have the answer he seeked.

Taharial sighed, “It is not my place to presume.”

“Please,” Sam urged, “I just want your opinion.”

“Well, this is just my own thoughts, but I’d say something awful went down between he and Alastair. Something worse than just the torture, something damaging. Scaring even,” she mused. Sam let out a deep sigh of frustration at this. What if something really had happened that left Dean torn? Well, torn even more so. It would just be so much easier if Dean would actually open up and talk about things. But, of course, he wasn’t going to.

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Dean finished relieving himself, pulling up his fly promptly before flushing the toilet. He let out a long drawn sigh, feeling weary though he had just slept for several hours beforehand. “Why, hello Dean,” Alastair’s voice suddenly echoed from behind him.

Dean jolted at the demon’s unexpected presence, nearly pissing himself despite just doing so. “Jesus,” he gasped, turning swiftly to face his old master.

“Not quite,” Alastair grumbled, shifting uncomfortably at the mention of His holy name.

Dean licked his lips delicately, already feeling a light sweat beginning to gather upon his brow. “Why the Hell are you even here?” he spat, lowering his voice as he leaned a bit closer to the demon, “There are two freaking angels standing right outside the door.”

Alastair rolled his eyes huffing impatiently, “Soon to be three.”

“What?” he asked, slightly confused.

“You honestly think I didn’t realize?” Alastair muttered, arching an eyebrow, “Uriel should be arriving any second now.”

“So I guess I’ll repeat for the deaf, why the Hell have you come?” Dean almost growled, side stepping away from Alastair as the demon approached the door.

Sliding his fingers over the door handle, Alastair twisted the lock to prevent anyone from entering—or leaving. Dean swallowed hard, feeling his heart beginning to thump hard in his chest. “I’ve come to check up on my little preposition,” he stated, looking Dean dead in the eye.

Dean took yet another cautious step backward, wanting there to be as much space between he and Alastair as possible despite the cramped surroundings. He sputtered, trying to stall Alastair in whatever he was about to do, “I uh, well, I didn’t—,”

“Don’t bother lying Dean, it won’t do you much good,” Alastair murmured, stepping forward, “Especially from _me_.”

Dean shivered as Alastair dominated over his personal space once more, leaning in so close that their lips were almost touching. “I, I don’t know. I have to think,” Dean responded breathlessly.

Alastair slid his cheek across Dean’s, leaning in to his ear in which to whisper, “What is there to think about?”

The hunter could feel a burning sensation emulate over his skin wherever the demon touched as Alastair began to slide his hand down Dean’s body in which to caress his inner thigh. Dean cried out softly as Alastair pinched his earlobe between his teeth, tugging with painful pleasure. An overwhelming wave of guilt, fear, and arousal spread over him uncontrollably—so much, in fact, it made the hunter feel sick to his stomach. “No,” he mumbled, his words becoming quickly lost in the sound of his racing heart. Alastair ignored Dean’s protest, gripping the hunter roughly by the shoulders and pinning him to the wall. Dean gasped out once again, feeling rage beginning to bubble beneath the surface. “Alastair,” he called out, his voice more commanding and in control this time, “I said no.”

Alastair took a step back, gazing at the hunter suspiciously. Clearing his throat, he promptly stepped out of Dean’s personal space zone fixing his collar which suddenly felt very tight. “We must meet,” he spoke clearly, calmly, as if nothing had happened, “Tonight.”

“What? Why?” Dean sighed. This simply wasn’t going to happen.

“Listen to me, and listen well Dean,” Alastair muttered, leaning in close to the hunter once again, “These pricks are going to send you and Sammy on a little trip over to Ohio. Do what they ask.”

“And what is that exactly?” Dean replied sarcastically, licking his lips.

“Just do it,” Alastair commanded. And with that, the demon disappeared before Dean’s very eyes. The hunter was really getting tired of all this _act now, ask questions later_ attitude—that and the whole magic disappearing act didn’t help either.

Glancing in the mirror, Dean noticed that his cheeks were slightly flushed. Turning on the sink, he quickly splashed some cold water onto his face dabbing it dry on a nearby towel. Opening the door, Dean stepped out only to see Uriel standing right outside. “Whoa, back it up there chuckles,” he grumbled, side stepping away from Uriel.

“Winchester two,” Uriel nodded simply, eyeing Dean with an almost vicious stare.

“Jeez, good to see you too,” Dean muttered under his breath, standing promptly beside Sam.

“Dude, what took you so long?” Sam whispered, leaning in towards Dean’s ear.

Dean glanced at him in confusion. He asked, “What a’ya mean?”

“You were in there for like ever,” Sam replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Suddenly Castiel spoke up, which Dean was thankful for seeing as he really had no response to give Sammy. Not a believable one at least. The angel had his hands clasped behind his back in a soldier-like stance, speaking clearly and directly in stating their next mission, “There have been some mysterious deaths at a company in Ohio—,”

“Shit,” Dean spat out suddenly, remembering what Alastair had said about the angels sending he and Sam to Ohio.

“Is there a problem?” Uriel arched an eyebrow.

“Uh, no,” Dean mumbled, glancing awkwardly towards the floor.

“Wait a second,” Sam cleared his throat, “Alastair’s missing, and you want us to look into some weird deaths? No offense, but shouldn’t we still be looking for the guy who’s killing your soldiers here?”

Castiel sighed, “Sam, we’re doing everything we can for right now. There’s really not much you can do to help.”

“But what about Alastair?” Dean asked, his voice sounding a bit more needy than he would’ve liked.

“Let us worry about Alastair,” Uriel grumbled, “One of our superiors will be in Ohio.”

Dean exchanged a quick glance with Sam, returning his gaze to the angels. “Your superior?” he questioned.

“Zachariah,” Castiel clarified, “He’s been meaning to have a word with you. About the seals.”

“Right, you mean about that blow-tastic job we’ve done about protecting them,” Dean scoffed.

Sam glared at Dean in dismay, “Dean—,”

“This last seal was a victory,” Castiel said, taking a step closer to the hunters, “We are trying our hardest to prevent Lucifer’s awakening, but we need to make sure you are giving all you can as well.”

Uriel took a threatening step forward as well, holding his hand up. “And if not, we can ensure that you do,” he warned, eyeing Dean especially hatefully.

Dean shook his head, gritting his teeth, “You know what? I’ve had about enough of—,”

“Will everyone please be quiet?!” Taharial hollered out suddenly. Everyone turned to face her suddenly, watching as the angel massaged her temples.

“What is it?” Castiel asked, breaking away from their small group in which to stand closer to Taharial.

Taharial let out a long drawn sigh, keeping her eyes closed tightly. “Can’t you feel it?”

“I don’t sense—,” Castiel began, stopping suddenly as he approached near the bathroom door.

“Castiel?” Uriel questioned, following his brothers steps. “I feel it too.”

Sam looked at Dean quizzically, staying put as he inquired, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“The bathroom, it’s contaminated,” Taharial stated, moving away from the door as Uriel opened it.

“You didn’t let that demon whore in here, did you?” Uriel muttered under his breath.

Sam looked as though he were about to speak, when Dean interrupted him sharply, “Hate to burst your bubble, but hotel bathrooms aren’t exactly _clean_.”

“That’s not it,” Taharial tried to explain, her eyes widening as she stood near Dean, “It’s you too.”

Sam jerked away from Dean suddenly, looking both shocked and disgusted all at the same time. Dean felt embarrassed yet infuriated under his brother’s judgmental stare. Castiel and Uriel soon joined the others, crowding around Dean in suspicion. Leaning her hand in towards his forearm, Taharial hesitated before finally resting her palm upon his flesh. She squinted in pain before removing her hand. “For crying out loud, what?!” Dean spat, feeling annoyance begin to bubble up inside him.

“Alastair’s scent lingers on you,” Taharial replied, looking him dead in the eye.

Dean could feel his heart racing once more in his chest, everyone’s watchful eyes carefully planted on him. Licking his lips, which had suddenly become very dry, Dean tried to sound as casual as possible, “His scent?”

“Traces of a demon can be detected by angels. Much like sulfur to you, we sense their energy or scent per say,” Castiel tried to explain.

“So what does that mean for Dean?” Sam asked eagerly.

Taharial mused, “It could be that Alastair’s presence is long lasting, possibly an effect from the poison—,”

“Or it could just be that your brother has had recent contact with the demon,” Uriel accused darkly.

“Impossible,” Castiel retorted simply.

“Dean was here the whole time,” Sam scoffed, “It’s not like Alastair could just slip in under our noses.”

“Sam’s right, it doesn’t make sense Uriel,” Taharial agreed.

Uriel folded his arms tightly over his chest, glaring at Dean viciously. The hunter cleared his throat, trying his best to avoid Uriel’s gaze, “So where do we go from here?”

Castiel lifted a hand in which to rub over his forehead, sighing wearily. “We go to Ohio,” he declared simply, “If Alastair is indeed that powerful to linger on you for so long, than perhaps it will do us some good in determining his location.”

No one spoke for a moment, some kind of thick tension forming between hunters and forces of the heavenly host. At last Taharial spoke out, her voice a bit more dim than usual. “I must rejuvenate,” she said.

Sam furrowed his brow, asking, “How does that work exactly?”

“I may be a superior to both Castiel and Uriel,” Taharial answered, “but I’ve not spent nearly as much time among the humans as they have. Being confined to this body, these limitations, wear me thin. And for that, I must rest and rehabilitate my powers.”

“Oh,” was all Sam could say. Quite frankly he was surprised at just how complex this whole angel to vessel thing could really be. Why was it with demons that they could just pop right in? No consent, no adjustments, nothing.

Dean pinched the brim of his nose, sighing a little bit louder than truly necessary. “Guess we should hit the road then?” he asked, but it really wasn’t a question.

“We shall me you there,” Castiel said, exchanging one last look with the hunters, “Please Dean, don’t delay.” And with that, all three were gone in a whoosh of feathers. The air was so serene, so calm, it was like they had never existed there at all.

“Okay, spill it,” Sam said almost immediately, looking at Dean intensely.

Dean arched an eyebrow at him, “Come again?”

“Cut the crap, Dean,” Sam urged, “What’s going on?”

“I dunno, you tell me,” Dean challenged, crossing his arms over his chest.

Sam snorted almost in disbelief as he placed his hands on his hips. “Come on, Dean, something’s off here. What happened in the warehouse?” the younger hunter pleaded, hoping Dean would give him something, _anything_ , in which to work with here.

Dean grumbled, “Sam—,”

“No Dean, something happened. Something between you and Alastair. What was it? You can tell me,” Sam insisted, taking a step closer.

Dean side stepped away from his brother, trying to bolt for the door as freaking fast as possible. “Nothing,” he lied through his teeth, not wanting to look Sam in the eye.

Sam quickly appeared before him, blocking the doorway. He obviously wasn’t going to quite until he got an answer that satisfied him—for the time being, at least. “Dean, please,” he continued.

“Nothing, okay Sam?! Nothing!” Dean hollered, lifting his fist in which to plant forcefully into Sam’s cheek. He had to admit, he felt better after doing so.

Sam stared at him in shock for an instant, quickly brushing it off. Dean had done much worse to him. “Something had to have happened,” Sam said, his tone lower this time, “Otherwise you wouldn’t be the wreck you are now.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean heaved.

“Dean, it’s more obvious than you think—I see the way you twitch, almost shake, just standing here. I’ve seen how panicked you get under the angels’ stare. Hell, the way you breathe is even reckless!” Sam declared, placing a hand firmly upon Dean’s shoulder.

“Sam, I just _tortured_ Alastair,” Dean said dryly, “It wasn’t rainbows and ponies, it was scissors and knives and blood. Just how did you think I was gonna be?”

Sam’s expression softened almost instantly—Dean made a good point. Sam wasn’t exactly sure what he’d been expecting but it certainly hadn’t been this. Just the words Dean used put a terrifying image into the young hunter’s head. He could see Dean cutting flesh apart with scissors, tearing the demon apart bit by bit. It made him itch inside simply at the thought of Dean being so brutal. So _soulless_. Sam directed his gaze towards the ground, fidgeting with his fingernails awkwardly. He murmured, “Dean, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—,”

“No, you didn’t,” Dean interrupted him. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Dean made quickly for the door. This time Sam didn’t even bother to stop him.

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Both hunters were restless as the trip seemed to just drag on and on. They’d driven about seven and half hours with an extreme tension building between them, before coming to a rest stop in Omaha. Dean was apparently giving Sam the _silent treatment_ , seeing as he went straight to bed without a single word of when to get up next. That had been all to obvious to Sam when he woke up to a mysteriously blaring radio—Dean’s work, no doubt. Still, they were back on the road in a short time, passing through Joliet as sort of a halfway marker.

Sam sighed softly, eyeing Dean with suspicion when he though he wasn’t looking. “What?” Dean asked sternly, never taking his eyes off the road.

“Nothing,” Sam replied, his voice dim and almost cowardly.

Dean turned his head, looking as though he were about to speak, when Sam’s cell phone rang out noisily. Sam glanced at the caller I.D. which read _Bobby_ with crystal clarity. Sam swallowed—he knew what this phone call would be about already. He let out one more sigh, flipping open the lid. “You stupid ass!” Bobby hollered into the receiver.

Sam jolted somewhat; he’d been expecting a verbal ass-whopping, he just hadn’t expected Bobby to be so loud about it. “It’s good to hear from you too, Bobby,” Sam replied dully, exchanging a quick glance with Dean. The young hunter shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Don’t give me that,” Bobby snapped, “First you tell me it’s a matter’a life ‘n death, then you up and leave?!”

Sam rolled his eyes, muttering, “Bobby—,”

“Is Dean alright?” the elder hunter interrupted him swiftly.

“Let me talk to him,” Dean said, reaching a hand out to accept the phone.

Sam ignored him, swapping the phone to his other hand and leaning in close to hear. “Bobby, we—,”

“Damn it kid, is he alright?!” Bobby shouted eagerly.

With one impossible swift move, Dean somehow managed to snake his hand around the back of Sam’s head and pulled the phone from his brother’s hand. Sam grumbled lightly in protest, folding his arms tightly over his chest. Dean leaned the phone on his shoulder, meanwhile, placing both hands back on the steering wheel. “Bobby,” he said simply.

“Ah, thank God,” Bobby muttered, letting out a deep sigh.

Dean furrowed his brow in confusion. He asked, “What’s going on?”

“Your brother had me race all the way to Cheyenne, that’s what,” Bobby grumbled miserably, “What the Hell happened to you?”

Dean shot a glance at Sam, in which the younger hunter quickly turned to look out the window. “It’s a long story,” Dean replied dryly.

Bobby said, “Well, you better get explainin’ then.”

“Look Bobby, now’s not the best time,” Dean stalled, “Cas wants us to head to Ohio. Something about meeting superiors.”

“And what about this demon? This Alastair guy?” Bobby continued, his voice low as if speaking a well kept secret.

Dean shivered at how blandly the demon’s name just seemed to roll off Bobby’s tongue. For a moment, Dean just felt compelled to spill everything out onto Bobby. To let him know about their strange affair and how Alastair poisoned him with a biting kiss and just everything. But Dean held back. “I don’t,” he began hesitantly, his voice rather creaky as he spoke, “I don’t know.”

Bobby remained silent for a moment, debating his response to himself. “Well, I’m just glad you’re okay,” he murmured at last.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed awkwardly.

“Guess I’ll let you two knuckle heads get back to yer angel business. You need anything, you just call,” he continued, trying hard to avoid any real tender chick flick moments with Dean.

Dean smiled, “Alright, thanks Bobby.”

“Yep, and Dean?” Bobby said.

“Yeah?”

“Just be careful out there.”

Dean sighed wearily, shutting the phone before tossing it into Sam’s lap. “I can’t believe you went and told him,” the older Winchester grumbled, making a sharp turn.

“What?!” Sam spat, looking at Dean in disbelief, “Dean, I thought he could help.”

“You had him scared shitless!” Dean retorted, glaring at Sam vigorously.

Sam snorted somewhat, “Uh, I didn’t know what else to do. I mean you were freaking _poisoned_ Dean, in case you haven’t forgot.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean challenged.

Sam sighed, “Nothing. Forget it.”

“Sam what?” Dean urged, feeling great amounts of irritation flaming over his cheeks.

“I dunno,” Sam confessed, “You’re just not yourself lately. And it’s not just the torture thing either.”

Dean rolled his eyes. _Here we go_ , he thought wearily to himself. “Sam—,”

“I’m being serious,” Sam interrupted him swiftly, “I’m not the only one whose noticed. I’m sure Cas and Uriel have been able to tell too.”

Dean gritted his teeth, keeping his mouth shut. It’s not like he had anything really to say anyhow. Eyeing an exit sign just above them, Dean made yet another sudden turn past oncoming traffic and down the exit ramp. A few people honked their horns, one even stuck the middle finger out the window to him. Dean could honestly care less, he was tired. “I’m gonna pull in here for the night,” he grumbled, nodding towards a small motel.

“Castiel said we shouldn’t waste time,” Sam retorted.

Dean kept his eyes intently focused on the steering wheel, even as he turned off the car and took the keys from the ignition. “Yeah, well you know what?” he muttered, “Cas can go screw himself. If they really want us there so badly well then they can just come and get us.” With that, he popped open the driver’s door making immediately for his belongings.

Sam remained silent as they checked into their room and began to unpack their things. His stomach grumbled low in his stomach, making him feel rather empty as he realized he hadn’t eaten in quite some time now. “I think I’ll go grab a pizza,” he declared simply, turning to Dean for the keys.

Dean chucked them over to Sam with a jingle, returning to his bag in which to pull out a whiskey bottle. “Don’t worry, got enough liquor to prob’ly drown the town anyhow,” he said, unscrewing the cap. Sam watched in dismay as his brother took a _long_ drink. He wished just for once Dean wouldn’t have to cling to a bottle.

Making for the parking lot, the younger hunter whipped out his cell phone quickly dialing Ruby’s number. “Ruby,” he said simply as the demon picked up the phone.

“How goes the search for the holy grail?” Ruby teased with her typical sarcasm.

“Frustrating,” Sam replied simply.

“You need it, don’t you?” she asked, seduction curling around each word.

“Yeah,” Sam admitted wearily as he hopped into the Impala.

Ruby smiled to herself, remaining hushed for a moment longer. She could hear the neediness just in Sam’s breath alone as she listened to him intently. “You’d think after all I gave you for Alastair you’d have had enough,” she mused.

Sam swallowed hard. “Ruby please,” he almost begged.

“Fine, fine, it’s not biggie to me. I’m just saying,” Ruby replied hastily, “Where should I meet you?”

“You know the local pizza joint in town?” he asked.

Ruby yawned, “Yeah?”

“There’s a motel right across the way,” Sam said simply. With that he hung up the phone, not even bothering to wait for a goodbye.

Dean, meanwhile, lay on his motel bed with bottle in hand and his eyes closed lightly. He let out a light sigh as his senses were beginning to drift away and sleep was threatening to overtake him. Drunk sleep was truly his favorite. He really didn’t dream or have nightmares or anything for that matter. He just slept, which was always a relief. Dean was quickly brought back to reality though as he heard the door shut lightly, footsteps shifting on the carpet.

“What'd ya forget?” he muttered, assuming sasquatch had left something behind.

“Nothing,” Alastair’s nasal voice rang out, “But it looks like _somebody_ forgot to lock the door there Dean.” Dean swallowed hard, now wishing Sam hadn’t gone out after all.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean’s eyes opened almost as soon as the demon spoke, his heart thumping uncontrollably in his chest. Sitting up quickly, the hunter soon found that was a mistake in itself—his head whirled and ached due to the amount of alcohol he’d just consumed in such a short period of time. Blinking vigorously, Dean found his vision rather blurry, Alastair’s figure mostly easy to make out but still a bit hazy. “What the Hell are you doing here?” Dean snapped, the words rolling off his tongue lazily as though his mouth had been numbed.

Alastair grinned at how unstable his toy was, taking a leisurely step forth towards the bed upon which Dean sat. “Oh Dean,” he sighed, “Dean, Dean, Dean.”

Dean frowned somewhat, creeping towards the other edge of the bed as he saw Alastair coming closer. “Yeah, that’s ny mame. Wait, no, that’s my, ny— you know what I mean!” he stumbled on his words. It was right about now when the hunter was regretting his drinking the most – or regretting being drunk more or less.

Alastair paused in his slow walk, lifting a hand in which to stroke his chin thoughtfully. “Tell me my boy, do you ever tire of running circles?” he asked simply.

“What?” Dean spewed immediately, “I’m not running, I’m sitting right here! Can’t you freaking see that, you freaking, freaker, freak—,”

“ _Think_ Dean,” Alastair commanded, interrupting the hunter swiftly, “Every time I appear to you, we always have the same conversation. Exchange the same words. Do I really take you off guard that easily?”

“Well,” Dean thought aloud, “Looks like it there, Sherlock.”

Alastair tilted his head to the side, a movement that very much resembled Castiel at this point. “Come now, Dean, I know you better than that,” he cooed.

“Oh really?” Dean snorted, feeling a slight case of the giggles coming on. He cleared his throat, his inner common sense wanting so badly to keep them down.

“But of course, Dean,” the demon continued, resuming his saunter forward once more, “I’ve seen the way you think, _operate_ , downstairs. The way you crack under pressure. And, thanks to our little session back in Cheyenne, I’ve seen just how you crack in other situations too.”

Dean hiccupped suddenly, feeling nauseous as though he would throw up on Alastair seeing as he was only a mere foot or so away from him by now. Images of him pleasuring the demon, and vice versa, flashed before him feeling his stomach lurch in both anticipation and disgust all at the same time. Glancing upward only to see Alastair’s face so close to his, Dean grumbled, “I’mma bout ready to crack you.”

Alastair chuckled his malevolent laugh, watching as Dean’s pupils trembled constantly. Grasping the hunter forcefully by the chin, Alastair jerked Dean’s head in which to make him stare directly into his eyes. “Look at me, Dean,” he commanded, “What do you see?”

Dean simply gazed at Alastair for an excruciatingly silent moment, but instead of feeling utter terror he felt humorous —rather humorous indeed. Snorting somewhat from trying to contain his drunken giddiness, Dean mumbled, “I see your face, Alastair. And let me tell ya, it’s pretty fugly dude.”

Alastair’s expression fell almost instantly, that certainly had not been the answer he was expecting. Grasping Dean roughly by the collar of his shirt, the demon tossed Dean down upon the mattress of the bed throwing a punch to the hunter’s jaw just for the sheer enjoyment in seeing him bleed. Watching the thin trail of crimson run over the skin on Dean’s lower lip, well, that was pure temptation to Alastair. Climbing atop the bed himself Alastair did his best to straddle a fairly resisting Dean, clutching the hunter’s hands together in which to keep them restrained. The demon could obviously see that the alcohol was quickly wearing off of Dean as he continued to lash out and fight back against the demon.

“What are you doing?!” Dean gasped breathlessly, his vision shaking violently threatening to make the poor hunter throw up right then and there.

“How should I say, having a taste,” Alastair remarked smugly, lowering his head in which to place a sickening kiss to Dean’s lips. The hunter wriggled helplessly beneath the weight of his former master, feeling like poison had just coated his mouth but, unexpectedly, he actually began to loosen up and melt into this kiss of theirs. Alastair broke away abruptly, instead attaching his mouth to Dean’s lower lip in which to taste the hunter’s irony blood. A bizarre, almost purring, sound rumbled in the demon’s throat as he continued to suckle and Dean couldn’t help but gasp out at the building pressure deep within him.

Alastair now removed his hands from Dean’s, allowing them to roam about where they would all over the hunter’s body. Dean threw his head back as he felt the demon suggestively rub over his inner thigh, causing the bulge in his pants to stiffen further. “Alastair,” he swallowed hard, his throat feeling extremely dry.

The demon pulled away from Dean’s lower lip, his eyes locking on to the hunter’s in one chilling stare. Sliding up Dean’s body, Alastair rejoined their lips once more slipping his tongue forcefully inside the hunter’s mouth. Dean breathed vigorously through his nostrils, heaving for breath as his heart continued to slam in the confinements of his chest. Alastair ran his fingers oh so lightly over Dean’s arms, grabbing the hunter firmly by the wrists and lifting them above his head. From there, he kept a tight hold on them as he began to direct his head down towards Dean’s neck and collarbone. Dean shut his eyes tightly, his brow furrowing in the utmost pain as he felt such an incredible longing at just how domineering Alastair could be. The demon bit lightly against the tender skin of the Winchester’s neck, an action which was certain to leave little red marks in the morning.

Still, removing one hand from Dean’s wrists, Alastair worked to pull Dean’s shirt of his head and tossed is carelessly to the floor below. Lifting his other hand away from the hunter at last, the demon rubbed his palms over Dean’s smooth chest greedily lowering his head in which to lick warm flesh. Dean cried out once more, this time wrapping his arms around Alastair’s back in which to pull the demon closer as if to never let him go.

It wasn’t long before both hunter and demon had been stripped of most, if not all, their clothing articles Dean’s flesh feeling as though it would melt off from Alastair’s purely volcanic touch. The two held a rather threatening gaze as Alastair peered down at his favorite puppet above whom he towered so high. Dean swallowed hard, feeling a deep pressure building within him in which he was certain he wouldn’t be able to hold off for much longer. His lips quivered slightly as he dared to speak in a hushed voice, “Alastair please I need, I need—,”

“What Dean? What twisted thoughts do you have swirling around in that noggin of yours?” Alastair interrupted him swiftly, feeling a growing pride radiating inside him.

“Please,” Dean begged, his throat dry causing his voice to come out scratchy and hoarse, “Please Alastair.”

“Begging doesn’t amuse me Dean,” the demon scolded, “I want to hear you say what you want.”

Dean closed his eyes for only the briefest of moments, feeling humiliation flush to his cheeks. “I want you,” Dean grumbled.

“Oh? And just what do you want me to do?” Alastair continued on with his charade, his voice almost melodic.

Dean hesitated at first, finally sacrificing his willpower in the sake of lust, “I, I want you to, to screw me.”

A devious, yet victorious, grin spread over Alastair’s lips as he lent down to whisper seductively in his hunter’s ear. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, running his tongue alongside Dean’s ear all the way down to his earlobe.

Dean gritted his teeth somewhat in frustration, snapping back angrily, “Oh just get on with it already.” Without another word, Alastair grasped Dean roughly by the hips and jerked himself deep inside the hunter. Dean clawed desperately against the demon, waiting for the pain to subside and the pleasure to begin.

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Sam propped himself up on his elbow, looking over towards Ruby who had the blanket pulled up protectively over her breasts. “What?” he asked, leaning in to nuzzle her playfully. That’s one thing he truly enjoyed about her, she was— _fun_. It went beyond all the freaky games they played in the bedroom, no Ruby understood his humor and so he wasn’t afraid to use it around her.

The demon stroked the young Winchester’s hair lightly as he nibbled lightly on her neck, a faint smile spreading over her lips. “You were really going at it there,” she muttered.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, his lips still moving gingerly over her soft flesh.

“I mean, you were drinking me up like a human juice box or something,” Ruby responded, snorting lightheartedly.

Sam pulled away from her abruptly, frowning slightly. “Is there something wrong with that?” he asked innocently.

“Well no,” Ruby reassured him, edging her way slightly closer to him, “But I guess that just depends on your opinion of right and wrong. I mean, not too long ago this was all against your morals or whatever.”

Sam sighed wearily, “Ruby, this isn’t exactly—,”

“Easy?” Ruby interrupted him quickly, “Yeah, I get it Sam.”

“Well then if you get it, why don’t you tell me what to do? What comes next?” the hunter scoffed.

Ruby rolled her eyes, licking her lips delicately, “Look Sam, I don’t know what you want me to say. It looks like to me that you’re still holding back, that you’re not trying.”

Sam grasped the demon’s forearm desperately, looking her dead in the eye. “Believe me, Ruby I _am_ trying,” he urged.

“Then why so secretive? Why do you call me sounding so ashamed?” she snapped, brushing his hand away harshly before turning to leave the bed.

“Like we weren’t sneaking around before?” Sam retorted, “Ruby, how am I supposed to just walk around admitting this?”

“If you know this is the right thing to do, if you _really_ believe that I’m trying to help you, then you shouldn’t have a problem with it Sam,” Ruby replied, beginning to slip her shirt back over her head.

Sam glanced down at the bed sheets, carelessly playing with the fabric between his fingers, he honestly hadn’t thought about it that way. He let out a light sigh, “Ruby, I’m sorry. I—,”

“Oh don’t even start,” Ruby interrupted him swiftly, pulling up her jeans before walking across the room in which to stand at the window.

Sam said nothing for a moment, remaining silent as he pulled his jeans from the floor and began to put them on himself. He then slowly made his way over to Ruby’s location, wrapping his arms delicately around her waste in which to pull her closer. At first, the demon elbowed him roughly just below the ribs, but still Sam persisted. At last he could feel the tension melting out of her muscles as she soon relaxed in his grasp. Turning his head slightly to the side, Sam slipped his face in towards the nape of Ruby’s neck kissing the skin lightly in which to make her shiver pleasantly in his arms. “I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said, his breath tingling her flesh even further.

Ruby let out a deep sigh, lifting her own arms in which to intertwine them with Sam’s. “It’s okay,” she responded, turning around to face him, “I can’t stay mad at you, Sammy.”

Sam placed a hand against her cheek, looking her deep in the eyes. “But you’re right,” he cleared his throat, “I shouldn’t feel so ashamed about this. I shouldn’t be holding back.”

Ruby’s eyes lit up as the words tumbled out of the young Winchester’s mouth. She kissed him feverishly on the lips before pulling away abruptly. “Then don’t,” she urged, “Don’t hide what’s inside you Sam. Don’t pretend to be someone else when you’re not.”

“That’s easy to say when _I’m_ not even sure who I am Ruby,” Sam murmured quietly.

Ruby ran a hand through the hunter’s hair, trying her best to encourage him—to break his walls down, so to speak. She whispered in his ear as she placed tiny kisses all along the side of his jaw, “Let me help you then. You and me, we can figure this out together. I’m here for you Sam, I’m here whenever you need me. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam replied pulling her into a firm hug, “Sometimes it’s scary how much you do for me.”

Ruby smiled almost sadistically, feeling just how needily Sam clung to her. Like a newborn infant clinging to its mother, for love for security. She continued to stroke his hair, silently reassuring him as he just continued to hold onto her. “Shh Sam, it’s okay. It’ll be okay,” Ruby muttered, kissing him lightly atop the forehead.

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Dean lay flat on the mattress of the motel bed, covers scattered in disarray, heaving for breath. His cheeks were flushed, his skin drenched—but, he’d enjoyed it. And that was something that scared Dean almost more than Hell itself, the fact that he was actually fucking Alastair. That he _liked_ it. It was something that Dean would’ve never imagined in a thousand years, yet he accepted it. Invited it, even.

Alastair glanced over his shoulder as he sat on the edge of the bed, buttoning his dress shirt. “I have to say,” the demon snickered, “You moan quite like the little bitch there, Dean.”

Dean turned to face Alastair, taking a deep breath before even daring to speak. He couldn’t understand why, but somehow their little _games_ exhausted him so. To the point, in fact, that the hunter could hardly breathe without strain. “Sc- Screw you,” Dean managed to stammer.

Alastair paused from his dressing simply to look over at Dean, which of course made the hunter squirm in his seat. He positively _hated_ when Alastair stared at him—sure, he didn’t mind screwing him, but there was something devastatingly overwhelming about the demon’s eyes. Dean shivered. “Tell me, Dean,” Alastair licked his lips deviously, “How’re you feeling right about now, hmm?”

Dean grunted as he tried his best to shift upright toward the headboard of the bed, his arms shaking with the effort. “What’s th- that got to do with anything?” Dean retorted, taking airy breaths in between each of the words.

A sick smile spread across Alastair’s lips as he leaned in close to the hunter, his eyes still fixed intently upon Dean’s. “You’re weak,” he muttered, getting well beyond the boundaries of Dean’s personal space, “I like you weak.”

Before Dean could speak, or even blink for that matter, Alastair was upon him once more wrenching at his slick skin. This time, however, Dean made no struggle in attempts for dominance—there was no point. Dean felt drained and, to be quite honest, rather disgusted with himself at the moment. As Alastair was just beginning to make his way down the hunter’s neck, he stopped pulling away abruptly.

“No, he mumbled precariously, “I don’t think so.”

Dean stared at the demon blankly, genuinely surprised by his actions. “What are you doing?” Dean asked, his voice barely grazing a whisper.

“I’m leaving you, Deano. It’s about time I checked out anyway, wouldn’t you agree?” Alastair replied smugly, adjusting his top button before arising from the bed.

“But why?” Dean urged, feeling an uncomfortable pressure building in his groin area from the way Alastair had aroused him so.

Alastair arched an eyebrow suspiciously at the hunter. “Better watch yourself, almost sounds like you already miss me,” he smiled sadistically.

“In your freaking dreams,” Dean managed to scoff.

Alastair wrapped his fingers around the door knob, propping the door open partially by a crack. “Hmm, possibly,” was all the more the demon had to say before disappearing into the hallway.

Dean snorted softly as he sat alone with himself. What was the purpose of that? What, a quick fuck and then it’s off to say farewell? Dean didn’t understand it—but then again, he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to. As reality over took him once more, the hunter suddenly realized that he’d better get the place straightened up before Sam came back. Dean could see it now, how well of a scene that would play out. Hopping quickly out of the bed, Dean grunted lightly as he began to throw the blankets back over the bed and arranged the pillows in an at least semi-neat fashion. He’d never been particularly good at making beds, but this certainly didn’t look bad. Non suspecting at least, which was good enough for him. Slowly he turned towards the bathroom, gasping out in pain as he took the first couple of steps. Damn, Alastair had really done a number on him—Dean could barely walk, much less do anything else. How in the world was he supposed to explain that?

Letting out a pain-filled sigh, Dean continued to edge his way towards the bathroom, closing the door lightly behind him as he’d finally gotten inside. Stepping into the bathtub, Dean turned the wall handle and allowed warm droplets of water to sprinkle down from the shower head up above. Closing his eyes, Dean placed a single hand against the tile and allowed the steamy water to pound on his spinal area and race down the rest of his back. Suddenly, a swift noise from the other room caught his attention and Dean immediately jerked his head upward.

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice echoed.

“I’m in here Cas!” Dean shouted over the running water, feeling nearly out of breath as he did so.

Dean could hear the angel take a few steps closer to the archway, leaning close to the wood of the door. “You’re bathing?” Castiel questioned, although it was easy to tell given the fact that Dean in fact had the water running.

“Yeah, but I’ll be out in a minute,” Dean replied, feeling a sudden pang of guilt wrench in his gut. What if Uriel or Taharial showed up? Or, even worse, what if this so called superior angel showed up? Could they still smell Alastair’s scent? Would they have known what Dean had done? All these thoughts whirled through Dean’s head so fast, making him feel so panicked that he thought he might be sick at any given moment.

Why was he doing this—why in God’s name would Dean Winchester be screwing Alastair? And it wasn’t like Alastair was just any demon, that could at least be understandable. But no, Alastair was practically _the_ demon of Dean’s life. Or death, rather. The demon who singlehandedly sliced and carved Dean’s soul away until there was almost nothing left. The demon who held Dean’s hand as the hunter himself tortured the likes of others. The demon who knew everything and anything there was to know about Dean—practically knowing Dean better than he knew himself.

And then it hit Dean: what if he _liked_ Alastair? What if, despite all the hatred and fury he held for the demon and for all the torments he bestowed upon him, Dean actually enjoyed Alastair’s company? It was a strange thought indeed, but it did in fact hold some logic. Every time Alastair was around Dean, well, the hunter could barely keep himself under control. His stomach churned, his spine tingled, his nerves were in constant disarray. Never before had any creature, angel, demon, or anything in between, effected Dean liked this. Had never had such a control over Dean’s emotions, able to make him flinch with the simple murmuring of a word. Dean shivered subconsciously. Back in that warehouse, he had promised himself that it was all a mistake. That he had been blinded, lead astray, and that would be all over afterwards. But just now Alastair had come to Dean, alone in his motel room, and had lain with him for the second time. And not only that, but Dean had wanted it. Had _asked_ for it, and actually expressed his desires in words. Something bigger was going down here than Dean had anticipated and it was all just beginning to be a little more than he could contain. A little more than he could hide—but he had to.

Hearing the slamming of the door, Dean blinked suddenly feeling a cold sweat flourish over him despite the heat of the shower. Soon he could hear Sam’s voice muttering something to Castiel and the smell of pizza filled the air. Dean quickly scrubbed himself over, before shutting off the water and reaching for a nearby towel to dry himself with. Then, after slipping into some clean clothes, the hunter emerged from the bathroom _slowly_ and _painfully_.

“Hey,” Sam said, taking a bite from his slice of pizza.

Castiel was leaning against the backboard of Sam’s bed, his arms down at his side in a casual and relaxed manner. “Hello Dean,” the angel greeted in his typical manner.

“What happened to just getting pizza?” Dean joked, trying his best to disguise his pain with lighthearted laughter.

Sam frowned a bit, watching Dean’s slow stride to the counter where the pizza box lay. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean you were gone for like an hour. What happened, dude?” Dean continued with his cheerful mask, just wanting to lay down and die from sheer exhaustion.

“Oh,” Sam replied rather hesitantly, “I uh, got a little side tracked.”

Dean snickered, “Was a strip joint?”

Sam scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment—this could potentially be a ticket out of one of Dean’s rants. “You guessed it,” he chuckled somewhat.

Dean sighed, a dopey smile spread over his lips. “Nice going, Sammy,” he praised, patting his brother lightly on the shoulder, before stifling another two steps towards the counter. Dean had to grip the edge for support.

“What’s wrong with you?” Castiel asked suddenly.

Both Dean and Sam gave the angel a strange look. “What d’ya mean?” Dean asked, swallowing hard. He could feel his heart rate beginning to accelerate already.

Castiel took a step forward, his brow furrowed in slight suspicion. “You’re,” he paused, overlooking Dean from head to toe, “Limping.”

Sam turned his head, looking at Dean’s posture and how his brother had to hold onto the counter simply to stand—Cas was right, something was definitely off. “Dude, what’s your deal?” he asked.

Dean’s eyes darted between the two, feeling his breath beginning to hitch even as he just stood there breathing. “N- Nothing,” he sputtered.

“Cas is right, you’re limping,” Sam insisted.

“What?” Dean denied sharply, “No I’m not.”

“Then why are you holding onto the counter?” Castiel challenged.

Dean gritted his teeth slightly, beginning to become irritated with the angel standing before him. Taking his hands off the edge of the smooth surface, Dean side stepped over just slightly feeling unstable as though he might fall any minute. “See?” he urged, letting his arms out on either side of him.

Sam rolled his eyes stepping closer to Dean and placing a firm hand upon his brother’s shoulder. Barely using any force, the younger hunter pushed Dean backwards in which he stumbled before actually falling over. “See?” Sam retorted, flailing his arms out in mockery.

“Alright fine, fine, now help me up,” Dean snorted, “Dude, help me up.”

“Not until you tell us what’s going on,” Sam demanded.

Dean looked flabbergasted. “That’s good leverage,” Castiel commented.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Dean growled at the angel.

Castiel looked as though he were about to speak when Sam cut him off sharply, “Dean, just tell us what’s going on.”

Dean let out a deep sigh—he’d have to think of some excuse to get himself out of this one. “Alright,” he muttered, “Ala—,”

“Hello boys,” Taharial interrupted suddenly. The air whooshed around where she just entered the room, the angel herself looking as graceful as ever.

“Taharial,” Castiel cleared his throat, “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve received new orders. We’ve been instructed to bring the Winchesters ahead of time,” she replied simply.

“Both of them?” Castiel questioned.

Taharial nodded silently, her arms folded behind her back making her look very soldier-like indeed. Sam just watched her, she was more or less how he had pictured the angels. Not in appearance necessarily, but in stature. Her gestures and the way she spoke, very mysterious but definitely not arrogant. Dean cleared his throat suddenly, making Sam jerk his head in his brother’s direction. Extending a hand, Sam helped Dean up, the elder Winchester glaring daggers at his brother all the while.

Taharial arched an eyebrow at Dean in question, looking over his limp posture. “Dean, come here if you will please,” she asked, though it was more of a commandment.

Dean did as he was told, taking a few limp steps toward the angel before appearing before her. “What?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Just, hold still,” she replied, nearly closing the space between them. Reaching both of her hands up, Taharial placed her palms on Dean’s temples closing her eyes. Her lips began to move but she was either speaking too fast for Dean to understand or, most likely, she was speaking enochian.

In an instant though, Dean could feel a cool tingling sensation spreading over his body almost like the feeling one gets in their mouth when chewing spearmint gum. He could feel it spreading all over his _damaged_ areas—flowing through his legs and all the other places in which Alastair had so greedily touched him. Then, with one last pulsing shock, Dean gasped out as he felt his very core being shaken. “Wh- What was that?” Dean heaved, slouching over for breath.

Taharial took her time answering, being sure to take plenty of deep breaths herself. “I was trying my best to heal you,” she said, “But my best was not nearly good enough apparently.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, his gaze darting between his brother and the nearby angel.

“It doesn’t concern you,” Taharial retorted.

Sam huffed somewhat in annoyance, placing his hands firmly on his hips. “Bull shit it doesn’t,” he scoffed.

“Sam,” Taharial pleaded, her eyes looking rather drained, “Please.” The young hunter said nothing further, instead looking down almost as if in embarrassment.

“We should get moving,” Castiel stated.

“Right,” Taharial agreed, moving towards the door. She twisted the handle, holding the door open in which for all three men to exit.

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Dean let out a light sigh as the Impala inched forward in the slow rolling traffic. “Damn cities,” he mumbled. He’d never liked cities—they were too loud, too crowded, and most of their was no space just to run his baby. Why, out on that open road, Dean could press his foot to the gas pedal and get away with nearly any speed he so desired. Here was another story entirely, he couldn’t each move a foot without another car’s bumper right there in his face.

“It’s not much further,” Castiel stated, looking out the window at the tall skyscraper buildings curiously.

“My ass,” Dean retorted under breath, rubbing a hand over his forehead wearily.

“Be patient,” Taharial insisted, placing a hand upon Dean’ shoulder. Her grip was firm, but not _threatening_. Soothing, almost.

Sam cleared his throat, “So uh, what can you tell us about this superior guy?”

“Zachariah,” Taharial clarified.

“Right, Zachariah,” Sam muttered.

“He receives more orders than we do,” Taharial began.

Dean scoffed, “So what? That just means he’s got a bigger to-do list.”

“Dean,” Castiel scolded, “He receives his orders for us too.”

“So he’s your boss then?” Sam arched an eyebrow suspiciously.

“In a sense, yes,” Taharial nodded.

“And you want us to be on our best behavior? Be good for the baby sitter, that kinda thing?” Dean frowned somewhat.

“Please Dean,” Castiel said, “Just show a little respect.”

The hunter said nothing further, just pressed his foot lightly upon the gas pedal in which to edge forward atop the asphalt. Making a left turn, Dean was finally able to pick up a little speed scooting the Impala onto the end of the block. As both he and Sam as well as the angels piled out of the vehicle, Sam fed the meter looking upward at the extremely tall building before them.

“Sandover Bridge and Iron Incorporated,” Sam read aloud, looking over the large letters plastered on the side of the building.

“Yeah, sounds like a real winner,” Dean mumbled, “Let’s go.”

The group made their way up the small pathway which led to the building and entered inside the air conditioned lobby. It felt so cool and refreshing but still they swiftly moved down the hallway and in front of the elevators. With a loud ding the sliver doors opened and a group of suited business men and women exited. From the other end of the hallway more workers entered along with Dean, Sam, Taharial, and Castiel. With yet another chime, the doors closed and the elevator began to move.

All was silent. Unnervingly so, in fact. Dean and Sam looked like schmucks compared to the many capitalists amidst the confined space. With their ripped jeans and leather jackets, that came as no surprise. And Taharial, well—she _sort_ of fit in. She wasn’t entirely casual, but then again that purple hair really didn’t do her justice in the business world. Still, it was drastically surprisingly just how well Castiel seemed to blend in with everyone. He appeared so professional with his hands clasped behind his back, his long and almost threatening trench coat stiffly clinging to his sides, and of course his intense stare. Dean would’ve laughed at the irony but now seemed like neither the time nor the place.

“Excuse me,” a light voice murmured from behind Dean. The hunter turned to see a young office woman slipping her hand beside him in which to reach the elevator buttons. He threw her a devious smile, but was disappointed to see that she was completely fixated on the angel standing aside him. Not only that, but the woman purposefully rubbed her hand across the side of Castiel’s trench coat as she returned her arms to her side. Castiel glanced over his shoulder, his expression virtually unchanged with the exception of his brow furrowed slightly. “Hi,” she smiled, “Where are you and you’re, uh party, headed?”

“To a superior on the upper floor,” Castiel replied simply.

The woman’s eyes lit up at this response—she obviously thought Castiel was some big shot or something. Well, if a big shot counts as a member of the heavenly host, then she was definitely on to something. “Oh, so you’re _all_ involved in some sort of business then?” she asked, looking over at Dean and Sam doubtfully.

“But of course,” Castiel replied as though it were the most apparent thing in the world, “It’s a matter of the utmost importance.” With that, the angel turned away from the woman faced forward silently for the rest of the ride.

Dean just snickered to himself at Castiel’s obvious rejection to the lady—owned.

At last the group had made it to their final destination, a solemn hallway filled with lonely whitewash doors. Only the sound of footsteps upon the floorboards could be heard as they echoed through the corridor, until coming to the last door to be seen. Taharial reached for the door knob, but Sam quickly grabbed it first. “Uh please,” he muttered, “Ladies first.”

Castiel tilted his head to the side strangely, while Taharial simply nodded in understanding of the gesture. “Thank you,” she replied stepping forth.

Castiel followed, and then came Dean. The elder Winchester leaned in closer to his brother, whispering, “Show off.”

Sam looked as though he were about to say something but snapped his mouth shut as he closed the door lightly behind him. No one spoke, but both brothers looked on precariously to a man who stood at the far side of the room facing the windows. He didn’t look particularly tall, but was well dressed in a black suit from head to toe. Upon his head, his hair appeared balding with gray around the sides.

 _Some superior_ , Dean thought to himself, rather unamused.

At last the man turned, facing both Dean and Sam with a pleasant smile upon his face. “Hello boys,” he said cheerfully, “I’m Zachariah.”


	6. Chapter 6

Dean and Sam exchanged a doubtful glance, both Castiel and Taharial remaining cool and statue-like. “Wait, you’re Zachariah?” Sam asked after a moment.

“Not quite what you were expecting, eh?” Zachariah chuckled at Sam’s hesitation.

Sam cleared his throat in a semi-awkward fashion. He certainly hoped that his words hadn’t offended this _superior_ angel. “Well, uh, I didn’t mean—“

“Oh no, it’s quite alright,” Zachariah assured the young hunter, taking a seat in the chair behind him, “Believe me, I had no interest in popping down here into one of these smelly things.” The angel grimaced as he overlooked his chosen vessel—he certainly could’ve done better.

“Then why did you?” Dean snapped suddenly, ignoring the most oppressing look Sam was throwing him out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t care at this point—even Zachariah’s tone was slightly offensive to the human race. It disgusted him.

“Ah Dean,” Zachariah sighed, a weary frown spreading over his lips, “I’ve been told that it is, apparently, _necessary_. Tell me, Castiel, have you heard from Uriel?” The superior now directed his attention away from the hunter and towards the solemn angel who stood in the corner.

Castiel cleared his throat stepping forth, his hands still held firmly behind his back— _good little soldier_. “I regret to say I have not. Last we spoke we discussed Taharial’s earth-coming. From what I understand he gone to receive revelation,” Castiel informed him rather professionally.

“You understand wrong then,” Zachariah retorted, “Uriel’s not been to receive revelation for several days now.”

Castiel blinked in silence, looking slightly taken aback. Where else could Uriel be, if not seeking guidance? And why hadn’t he offered them any assistance with the task at hand? All of this perplexed Castiel to no end and, quite frankly, the angel looked like he’d just been bitch slapped. At least in Sam’s opinion. He opened his mouth as though about to speak when he was abruptly cut off by an unexpected gasp from Taharial.

The angel was hunched over and was clutching her abdomen in pain. “Sister,” Castiel murmured, at her side in an instance in which to offer her aid.

“Your vessel is weakened,” Zachariah frowned, slowly arising from his seat.

“I’m fine,” Taharial insisted through clenched teeth. She tried to straighten up, but failed miserably when she choked up black venom similar to what Alastair had infected Dean with. She exchanged a knowing look with Dean, which Zachariah was sure to catch of course.

Zachariah cleared his throat, “Sam, what’ya say you scooch it on outta here and give us a few minutes with your brother here?”

Sam’s facial expression fell in a split second. “What?” he gaped, “I don’t think—“

“Sam,” Dean urged, interrupting his brother swiftly.

Sam huffed in annoyance, but did as he was directed. “Fine, I’ll just wait outside I guess.” With that, he marched silently to the door. Almost as soon as Sam had exited, Castiel lifted one hand closing the blinds on the door’s small window without any hassle.

“Your brother’s an obedient fellow, isn’t he?” Zachariah snickered light-heartedly.

Dean folded his arms tightly over his chest, obviously not impressed with Zachariah’s snide remarks. “C’mon chuckles let’s get on with it, I don’t got all day here. See, some of us actually have things that need to get done, the hunter spat coldly.

Castiel’s eyes seemed to darken as he glared at Dean for his words. “Dean—“

“It’s alright Castiel,” Zachariah interrupted him, the smug grin never leaving his lips, “It’s right to business, I see.”

“I believe I’ve been poisoned,” Taharial admitted awkwardly.

“And how is it you’ve contracted the hunter’s _disease_?” Zachariah inquired.

“I’m not sure,” Taharial sighed leaning against the desk for support, “Dean was healed, but...” Her voice trailed off.

“He’s infected once again,” Castiel carried on Taharial’s sentence.

“Infected?” Dean echoed doubtfully.

Castiel glanced over at the hunter, the faintest hint of hesitation and distain gleaming in his eyes. “Alastair’s presence still courses actively through your veins,” the angel explained simply.

Dean could feel embarrassment coat in guilt creeping along his cheeks, causing them to become engulfed in a deep pink. Lying to angels about his involvement with Alastair—what a fine mess he’d gotten himself into. Avoiding telling Sam about it was one thing, but this was another matter entirely. These were _angels_ Dean was dealing with here. Divine messengers of God, or whatever. The hunter could foresee some serious smiting ahead in the near future.

“Dean,” Zachariah cleared his throat, drawing the hunter away from his thoughts, “You seem— _weak_.”

Dean glanced toward the superior angel, swallowing hard as he now felt strangely nervous in not only Zachariah’s gaze, but the other’s as well. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” he muttered, his voice gruff with apparent anger. And suddenly, Alastair’s words rang out in his head. Like a whistle, clear as day— _You’re weak. I like you weak_.

Zachariah looked slightly taken aback at Dean’s defensiveness, but made no comment at the hunter’s begrudging attitude. Directing his eyes downward though, Zachariah cocked an eyebrow suspiciously at Dean’s strange standing posture. “You’re shaking,” he said, pointing a finger in the direction of Dean’s legs.

The hunter looked down towards his knees only to find that they were indeed trembling. Whether it was out of fear or nerves, Dean couldn’t tell—one thing he did know for certain though was that he was feeling faint. So faint, in fact, that Dean’s vision was beginning to curve and swirl, creating bizarre shapes and patterns before his very eyes.

Stumbling only a few steps backwards, Dean soon found himself crashing onto the floor with an ominous thud. The corners of his sight began to darken, a thick blackness threatening to overtake him at any moment. The last thing Dean was able to see clearly, was Sam’s distressed face as the younger hunter dashed into the room and to his brother’s aid.

“Dean!”—And all faded into a freezing silence.

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Sam was pacing the motel room floor, glancing over his shoulder every now and again to look where Dean was still unconscious just behind. On the phone he was listening to Bobby ramble on about how he and Dean needed to _pull together_ and how Dean _needs him right now_.

Letting out a weary sigh, Sam pinched the brim of his nose waiting for Bobby to finish his sentence. “Look Bobby,” Sam cleared his throat, “I didn’t call for a lector. I called because I need your help.”

“Well excuse me for wantin’ to offer up some advice, jeez,” Bobby grumbled on the other line.

Sam sighed once more, “I didn’t mean it that way, Bobby. It’s just, Dean—there’s something wrong with him.”

“Ya think? The boy’s been to Hell and back Sam,” Bobby scoffed.

“No, I mean—this is different. There’s something _really_ wrong going on here. Dean’s not himself anymore, Bobby,” Sam retorted, his voice barely grazing a whisper.

Bobby leaned forward in his seat, his attention now fully focused on the conversation at hand. “Like how not himself?” the older hunter inquired.

“I dunno,” Sam muttered, leaning on the edge of the nearby kitchen table, “He’s been quiet, I guess. Not to mention he could hardly stand this morning.”

“What?” Bobby gaped in surprise, “How’d that happen?”

“I’m not sure, he was just all shaky and stuff. I really think—“ Just then Sam could hear Dean stir beneath the sheets of the bed, “I gotta run. Look, I’ll call you later, okay?”

“A’right,” Bobby sighed in exasperation.

“Alright, bye,” Sam said, before closing the lid of the phone and tucking it into his pocket.

“Hey,” Dean muttered, sliding the bed sheets off his chest as he say up.

“Hey,” Sam replied, taking a few steps towards Dean’s bed, “How you feeling?”

Dean shrugged, “Been better. Was that Bobby?”

“Yeah it was actually. I just wanted to give him a call and let him know what happened, you know?” Sam replied, almost hesitantly.

“What did happen?” Dean asked wearily as he rubbed the blur from his eyes.

“You don’t remember?” Sam frowned, coming to sit on the edge of Dean’s bed.

Dean paused, simply to look at his brother sitting here before him. “Obviously not,” he chuckled somewhat.

“Well, you sorta collapsed,” Sam informed him rather sheepishly.

“Collapsed?” Dean echoed, frowning somewhat.

“Yeah,” Sam scratched the back of his head awkwardly, “You were all shaky and crap, according to Zachariah anyway. But yeah then you just fell over.” Dean said nothing for a moment, staring off blankly into space. He’d done it—he passed out in front of the angels. The freaking _angels_. There was no excuse he could make now which would be sufficient. “Hey, you okay?” Sam asked at last, his brow furrowed in concern.

Dean cleared his throat, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” He just shrugged off the doubtful glare Sam threw him, tossing his legs over the edge of the bed in which to arise.

Taking a hesitant step forward, Dean could feel the muscles cramping up in his ankles a clear indicator that he was not prepared to walk properly. Out of the corner of him with those ever intent eyes, which of course only provided further incentive for the eldest hunter to press onward. Grunting ever slightly, Dean actually took but one step before his legs gave out on him and he, yet again, came falling down onto the floor.

“Dean!” Sam called, kneeling at his brother’s side in which to help him up.

Dean shoved his brother away, not roughly, but just enough to show Sam that he was indeed fine—for the most part, at least. “I got it,” Dean insisted, gripping the edge of the bed in which to hoist himself up, “Just a little klutzy is all.”

“Klutzy?” Sam questioned , straying close to his brother’s side. Dean opened his mouth as though about to speak, when suddenly he stumbled nearly falling yet again. Sam was quick to catch him though, gripping Dean’s torso firmly as he plopped him on the bed once more. “Klutzy my ass,” Sam muttered placing his hands on his hips, “What’s going on with you?”

Dean was half-tempted to shoot into denial mode once again, but he stopped himself pausing to think. He couldn’t lie anymore—he couldn’t exactly tell the truth either though. “I,” he hesitated, “I dunno.”

Sam sighed in exasperation, “Dean, _please_ , talk to me. You’re not yourself lately.”

Dean glanced upward catching his brother’s eyes—full of desperation and need. “Yeah, well, things haven’t exactly made it possible for me to be myself or whatever,” Dean cleared his throat.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam frowned, edging in just slightly closer to Dean.

“Sam, in case you didn’t notice, things have been freaking topsy turvy these past couple days,” Dean scoffed sarcastically, “Now how exactly am I just supposed to act chipper all of a sudden?”

Sam remained quiet for a moment, not really certain of how to respond. He knew some serious shit had been going down, but he really hadn’t bothered to ask Dean how it affecting him. Sam just thought that he’d be fine—Dean was _always_ fine in the end. “Does this have anything to do with Alastair?” Sam asked after a long drawn pause.

Dean shifted uncomfortably, as the conversation was now heading in a direction which he wasn’t sure he could follow. “Yeah,” he replied though, his voice hushed as though keeping a deep secret.

“Dean, what happened in that warehouse? I know that _has _to be a part of it,” Sam urged.__

 _Dean swallowed hard, allowing his eyelids to dip shut for the briefest of seconds. He could hear his heart booming against his eardrums, threatening to block out any other noises which surrounded him. “Sam, I can’t ta—“ But the hunter was cut off by a sudden vibration of his cell phone._

 _“What’s that?” Sam furrowed his brow, watching as Dean fished the device out of his pocket. Dean ignored his brother’s inquiry, popping open the phone in which to see the screen. A text message. Dean swallowed hard, keeping the phone tilted away from Sam’s line of sight before pressing the button in which to read it._

 _**_What happened to our little secret?_ ** _

Dean couldn’t believe it. As a matter of fact, he had to blink several times just to make sure he hadn’t imagined the whole freaking thing. The number was not one he recognized, but Dean knew undoubtedly who the sender was—who they had to be.

 **_Take a peak outside. If you can._ **

It was Alastair, Alastair was taunting him. And suddenly, Dean had this itching desire to go to the window. To look outside, just as Alastair had requested. “Dean, what is it?” Sam questioned once again, his voice growing more impatient with each passing minute, “What are you doing?” The younger hunter watched in confusion as his brother leapt from his place atop the mattress and began to hobble across the room towards the window. Dean staggered for breath as he leaned against the wall, edging along slowly in which to reach the glass that would allow him to look amidst the outdoors. At last Dean clutched the rim of the window pane within his fingers, leaning his head against the glass his collecting into a smeary blur.

Outside in the parking lot, surrounded by many a car, Alastair stood simply looking up at Dean’s present position. He bore a smug grin upon his lips, his arms folded tightly over his chest—his posture was enough to send shivers down Dean’s spine as he watched his former master stare at him deviously. Dean actually found himself raising a hand to press against the glass, his hand curving, his fingers needing. So desperately willing to grab. Alastair raised a finger to his lips, motioning to Dean to keep silent and not reveal any of their late _visits_ with one another.

Just then Dean startled, hearing a noise behind him and turning to see Sam right there at his back. His brother’s eyebrows were knitted together in the deepest of perplexity, his mouth twisted into a deep frown. Leaning forward, just slightly past Dean, Sam looked out the window glancing all around. “What the heck are you looking at?” he urged, his voice now sounding irritated more than anything.

Dean glanced back at the parking lot, his eyes searching for the spot where Alastair was standing just moments ago—but alas, the demon was gone. Alastair was one fast son of a bitch, Dean had to give him that. Smiling to himself, almost relishing in the secret, Dean turned away from the window and began to hobble back towards the bed. “Nothing,” he replied smoothly, flopping down atop the covers once more.

Towards the doorway, there came a rustling of feathers and whoosh of air, Castiel appearing before the two brothers. “Hey Cas,” Sam said, his voice sounding a bit more upbeat at the angel’s presence.

“Hello Sam,” Castiel nodded, before directing his attention towards Dean, “I see you’re awake, Dean.”

“What gave me away?” Dean smiled sarcastically. Castiel said nothing in response, instead silently striving over to Dean’s position on the bed and invading the hunter’s space far too quickly for Dean’s liking. “Whoa, whoa, what’aya doing?” Dean shoved the angel away as Castiel tried to grab a hold of his shirt.

“I will attempt to heal you,” Castiel replied simply.

“What about Taharial?” Sam questioned.

Castiel turned just slightly over his shoulder to face the younger Winchester. “She is decommissioned for a time. Not to worry though, Uriel will be helping to escort her to some healing of her own,” Castiel informed him, his voice gruff and monotone.

“I thought Uriel was digging the lying scene lately,” Dean muttered, feeling slightly sheepish as Castiel turned around to face him once more eyes a frosty stare, “What with not going to receive revelation or whatever.”

“I was mistaken about Uriel’s intentions,” Castiel said coldly, “Uriel was not _lying_ to anyone.”

“Okay, jeez, calm down,” Dean shifted uncomfortably.

Castiel let out a light sigh, “Take off your shirt.”

“Say what?” Dean stammered, his voice cracking somewhat in surprise.

“In order for you to be healed, your shirt must be removed,” Castiel clarified. Dean and Sam exchanged a hesitant look but still Dean obeyed, lifting the fabric of his shirt over his head until the article itself was removed. “Now lie flat.”

Dean did as he was told, straightening out the pillows behind him before lying back against them. As he did so, the hem of his jeans dipped down ever slightly revealing the hunter’s hipbone—a _bruised_ hipbone, apparently. This really wouldn’t have bothered Sam so much, had it not been for the fact that this bruise looked similar to that of a bite mark. Sam caught Dean’s gaze, in which his brother promptly pulled up his pants to conceal the mark that Castiel obviously didn’t catch sight of. Instead, the angel placed his palm flat against Dean’s forehead, the other hand flat on his stomach. Castiel then closed his eyes, his brow furrowed as though in deep concentration.

At first, nothing happened, and Dean was slightly doubtful that Castiel would be able to do much of anything—but then there came a sudden feeling. A feeling of warmth, which spread over his entire body in only a few seconds. It tingled, and burned somewhat, but it still felt relaxing. Dean gasped out lightly at the bizarre sensation which had overcome his body. “Dean, you okay?” Sam asked in concern.

Dean opened his mouth as though about to speak, when Castiel cut him off abruptly. “Please, don’t talk,” he instructed firmly. Dean had no complaints with that. Everything in this moment was just so freaking peaceful, he didn’t want it to end. But it did, much too soon for Dean’s taste, and the hunter was left laying stunned on the mattress. “It’s finished,” Castiel announced.

“That’s it?” Dean asked, the slightest hint of a needy undertone standing out in his voice.

“Yes, you are no longer infected, you should be able to function properly, without any hassle,” Castiel nodded, turning to walk towards the window.

Sam frowned somewhat, “How is it Taharial wasn’t able to do that?”

“Taharial’s abilities are far greater than my own,” Castiel began, running his fingers lightly along the curtains which were tucked to the side, “But Alastair’s poison was a challenge, even for someone of her skill. Dean was not as contaminated this second time around, but Taharial was weakened from before.”

Dean couldn’t help but smile silently at the praise Castiel had just offered to Alastair—apparently Alastair was powerful enough to overpower an angel’s healing skills. Who’d have thought? He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he could feel the slightest bit of pride swelling up inside him at that thought. It was like he found comfort in the fact that Alastair could still whoop an angel’s ass. Shaking his head vigorously though, Dean wiped the idea from his head quickly. Alastair was still a demon, which meant he shouldn’t be thinking those thoughts at all. Dean supposed the same went for the more _dirtier_ thoughts he’d had about the demon too though...

“Dean,” Sam called, making Dean jump somewhat, “Did you hear anything Cas just said?” Apparently, the hunter had become so engulfed in his own thoughts he hadn’t heard Castiel explaining what came next for them.

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat awkwardly.

Castiel folded his arms behind his back, pacing the floor slowly, “As I was saying, Zachariah has a haunting for you to investigate in the P.T. Sandover building.”

“Wait a second,” Dean interrupted him swiftly, “The freaking apocalypse is coming down on us and you want us to hunt down a ghost?”

“Dean, it was my suggestion,” Castiel informed him, feeling slightly taken aback by the hunter’s obvious distain towards the chosen assignment.

Dean shrugged, “Kinda under-leaguing, don’t you think?”

“He’s just trying to watch out for you, Dean,” Sam interjected.

“I thought that with the current situation you may need time to recuperate,” Castiel nodded.

Dean’s eyes darted between his brother and the angel standing before him, chuckling lightheartedly. “Not to burst anyone’s bubble here, but I’m really okay. I’m all good to walk thanks to chuckles over here and all is well in the world,” Dean assured them, a hint of sarcasm to his tone.

“Still, Zachariah agrees—come by the building after closing hours to investigate. I’ll meet you there,” Castiel decreed. And, without a moment to protest, the angel had vanished in the blink of an eye.

“He really does mean well for you, Dean,” Sam half-smiled.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Dean nodded, flopping down once again onto his bed.

Sam just watched his brother for a moment, uncertain of what to say or even do next. He wanted to talk to Dean, he really did, but he just couldn’t help but think that he wouldn’t be told the entire truth. There were so many questions, _suspicions_ , which lay unconfirmed or unanswered.

Still, the younger hunter allowed a long drawn sigh to escape his lips as he stood there. “Well, I’m gonna grab a quick shower,” he announced already heading for the door.

“Alright,” Dean mumbled, watching as Sam disappeared into the abyss of tile. He allowed his eyes a moment of rest, his head seeping back into the pillow beneath him. It wasn’t long before the hunter’s fingers found their way just slightly under the hem of his jeans, rubbing over the bruise that decorated his skin—that was one injury Castiel hadn’t been able to heal. And, in a way, the hunter was glad at this.

Glad that there was still a piece of him which Heaven could never have, that was all his own. And especially glad that Alastair now had made his mark, in which he could reminiscence on all the terribly nasty thing’s he’d done to Dean in the past—and what he would undoubtedly do in the future.

Chills ran up and down Dean’s spine at that thought, anticipating. _Waiting_. His fingers tingled as they continued to rest upon the damaged flesh, simply itching to dig into his right pocket and retrieve the cell phone. Just to read over those texts. To relish in the fact that Alastair had contacted him—personally, secretly. Dean couldn’t stand the unnerving feeling any longer. Grabbing the cellular device, the hunter flipped his phone open and scrolled through his inbox until he found them. He didn’t have to search long, it’s not like anyone really had his phone number who would text him anyhow. He read each word individually, letter by letter, absorbing each message as best he could.

Dean wasn’t sure what had overcome him next. He wasn’t sure where he picked up the knack to move his fingers so fast, but he decided to reply to those messages. The hunter paused momentarily, uncertain of what to say even. One couldn’t just go about saying _Hi_ to a former master in the bowels of Hell—something about that just didn’t feel right. Like it wasn’t good enough for Alastair’s eyes even to merely glance over.

So instead Dean settled upon, **_I saw you._**

Pressing the send button, the hunter closed the lid to the phone and waited. Dean couldn’t take his eyes away from the screen, gazing with baited breath as he imagined what Alastair’s response would be, if the demon sent one at all. He nearly jumped out of his skin as the phone vibrated in his palm, indicating that Alastair had indeed decided to write back, giving him the time of day.

 **_I realize. Although, I was careful to disguise myself from your brother. He’s a nosy fellow, isn’t he?_ **

Dean paused, frowning somewhat. He really hadn’t expected their conversation to be directed towards Sam. To be quite frank it almost disappointed him.

 ** _I guess_** , He texted back flatly.

This time it didn’t take long at all for Alastair to respond. **_I see. And I suppose he won’t notice your newfound method of communication? Considering you didn’t even understand MySpace, as I recall._**

Dean couldn’t help but chuckle at this—he didn’t actually remember explaining that memory to Alastair, but it still pleased him that someone remembered never the less. **_Why should he care? He’s got his secrets, and I’ve got mine._**

 ** _I wonder what Ruby would say_** , Alastair mused smugly. Just like him to explore all the possibilities of a situation.

 ** _I don’t really think she’d care_** , Dean retorted. It made sense, in his opinion at least. What he was doing really couldn’t be any more wrong than what those two in their many hours alone. Could it?

 ** _True, but it would be interesting to see her face. She makes the most interesting of expressions_** , Alastair continued, **_I had the pleasure of picking her apart once. Her terror was truly amazing._**

 ** _Oh, I bet_** , Dean snickered, trying to imagine tears in her eyes. But then he cringed a little, clearing his throat semi-awkwardly.

This was Alastair he was talking to, a demon himself. Hell’s greatest torturer, a master in the art of pain. And yet, Dean was having a conversation with him as though he were an old friend from out of town—remembering times spent together one distant summer perhaps. As the reality dawned on him, he felt disgust boil up deep within himself. Like all that he’d been doing in the past week was finally hitting home and making sense. Even if they weren’t talking about Ruby, Alastair surely would’ve found some way to bring torture into the mix and that in itself was just a bit more than Dean could stand. He didn’t want to remember the desperate pleas for mercy that shimmered in the eyes of his victims he’d carved apart—he certainly didn’t want to remember the emptiness he’d felt as he climbed off that rack after those excruciating thirty years.

 ** _I have to go_** , the hunter announced suddenly.

 ** _Of course, Sam will be returning from his shower soon I suspect_** , Alastair replied, almost understandingly.

Dean’s swallowed hard at Alastair’s knowledge of where he was. And all that he was doing for that matter. It was a little creepy imaging the demon watching over his every move. Still, Dean shook it off, tucking the phone deep inside his pocket once again. He had to stop this with Alastair, it was as simple as that. He couldn’t be texting him, or _fucking_ him—no, all of it had to go. Dean just had to get his head back in the game and focus on the task at hand. The only trouble was, what if it wasn’t that simple? After all, nothing ever was in the life of a Winchester, but what if Dean had dug too deep? What if he’d climbed into a hole in which he would be able to get back out of?

Just then, almost as if on cue, Sam emerged from the bathroom his hair still damp with tiny water droplets. He paused in his footing to glance at Dean, frowning at the color which had drained from his brother’s face. “Hey, you okay?” he asked.

“No,” Dean cleared his throat, catching Sam’s eyes, “But I will be.”


End file.
